


Megara Rialton:The Golden Flight

by LyriumLove



Series: Megara Rialton [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyriumLove/pseuds/LyriumLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megara Rialton is an apostate mage who joins the Wardens' party directly after the Battle of Ostagar; for the thrill of an adventure and killing. She harbors secrets which could shatter the kingdom and those around her. This is her story. Please leave a review, if you would be so inclined. **All Dragon Age content belongs to Bioware. I receive no compensation. Rated T-M thus far. AU but follows many canon events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brass, Bastards and Beginnings

Chapter the First

**9:30 Dragon, 22nd of Wintermarch**

The body was still hanging on the makeshift wooden cross. Megara saw it first and tried to stop Alistair and Tara from stumbling onto it like this. “Wait!” she cried, attempting to block their view. It was too late. An almost inhuman noise erupted from deep within Alistair’s body as Megara watched him crumble to the ground in front of King Cailan. She could do nothing but stand and watch at this point, averting her own crisp blue eyes. They were the color of the frozen sky, so vivid as to almost seem white. Megara closed them briefly, sucking in a sharp, cold breath before returning to reality. 

Alistair’s face was in his hands and he sobbed openly. She had never seen him like this, truly. He was always an emotional sort of person, sensitive and humorous too. Yet he rarely allowed himself such a display of emotions. Considering that he had barely known his brother, Megara wondered at his grief, such as it were. She’d have thought him to be more distraught over Duncan, but then they’d not found Duncan’s body yet. Tara, the new Grey Warden who had been with Alistair at Ostagar and both saved by Flemeth, rushed to his side. She was not an imposing figure, this warrior. She was a Cousland and so of royal stock like Alistair, but not a bastard. Megara watched her with mild interest. Tara Cousland was tall, slim and of modest beauty. She had dark amber hair which she kept relatively short, never seeming to go past her distinctive shoulders. Megara envied those, however, for they were sculpted finely, jutting out at the perfect angle. Tara’s eyes were a dull brown though, with a small short nose and broad cheeks. She had an ample bosom but nearly no arse. Being raised at Highever, Megara wondered how Tara hadn't put on a least a margin of weight with all of that rich food about. Tara wore the azure and grey armor standard for a Grey Warden, with dull black leather gloves and boots. Her sword was kept in a standard issue sheath, rather than some Cousland frumpery. Frowning, Megara watched as Tara pulled Alistair up.

Megara stood still as Zevran caught up with her. She was unsure how to proceed, not being overly familiar with the Wardens and new to the ragtag traveling party. Megara was an apostate, living in the woods and traveling towards Denerim. After the devastating disaster at Ostagar just a week ago, the Wardens and Morrigan had made their way to Lothering. Megara had been stopped at the small village to buy supplies and get any relevant news. Having isolated herself for so long, she was thoroughly shocked to learn of the defeat at Ostagar and Cailan's death. Sitting in Dane's Refuge, the modest tavern of Lothering, she sipped some spiced apple cider and trained her ears on the gossip around her. She was always an avert listener, one could glean any number of important facts from background conversation. So as she sipped her drink, which was surprisingly good, she soaked in all she could. Her hood was just off the crest of her hair, not enough to make her look suspicious but still enough to obscure her face from view. Not that she expected anyone to really recognize her anyways. She'd not been to Denerim in years and the Templars who had hunted her thought her dead. Chucking, she remembered faking her own death in the woods outside the Circle. 

When she had left the Circle, she had made no secret of it. It was not long before a handful of Templars were hot on her trail. Megara knew this, she had regularly slipped from the Tower to peruse the woods. She had taken her phylactery, but not broken it. Once inside the woods, she had quickly trekked to the den of a bear she'd stumbled upon in her previous forays. She had discovered her mysterious ability to communicate with animals then, when the bear didn't attack her. She couldn't truly talk to the animals, but it was as if they understood her. It had been then that she'd decided to leave. So that frosty morning, in her bag was a freshly killed rabbit, which she gave the bear. When the Templars crashed through the forest, following her blatantly left trail, they came upon the den, on a cliff. All the Templars could see was a mangled mage, blood dripping from the edge of the cliff, a growling bear, and entrails. The bear had roared fiercely at the Templars, who had decided to leave her body for the massive animal. After they'd left, Megara had cleaned herself up as best she could and tried to convey her thanks to the bear. She hadn't been brave enough to try and touch him, but she had gathered a few strands of his fur from the forest floor and tucked them into a pocket. That night, well away from the circle, she'd built a campfire and burned the clothing which was soaked in rabbit blood and intestines. She was finally free. Dead to the world, she could take a new identity and start over. Only she couldn't. Her past was too heavy to just cast off so easily. So she'd shouldered it and her bag and traveled.

Lothering was the first village she'd been at in months. She had been extremely wary of being around people again, having spent so much time with animals. However, after entering the devastated village, she felt empathy for the people. She'd done her best to help in what little ways she could, bullying a merchant into lowering his prices, chasing off a fanatic man who was preaching doom to all and reassuring the ones he had instilled fear into. It was strange, helping people like this. It wasn't like she was completely cold hearted, but she had known more betrayal and pain than even the staunchest warriors could have borne. She did enjoy it though, those two days before the Wardens arrived. She spent a great deal of time running miniscule errands from the Chantry board. She wasn't religious, not in the way that those who worshipped Andraste or the Maker were, but their devotion was endearing to her. One of the few pure things left in this world. She'd been careful not to make a lasting impression on anyone, though, rarely giving her name and never lingering. It hurt, but she knew better. Having friends, even acquaintances, was not an option for her. She'd ruined that long ago.

Her third day in Lothering, she was preparing to leave that evening. There had been a band of Loghain's men who'd arrived that morning, bullying and scaring people. She had managed to elude them without catching attention, but her rage at them was palpable. Sipping her hard cider and merely listening to them boast took every ounce of self control she had. While they spread the heresy of Warden betrayal to everyone, the truth was easily pulled from lips loosed with ale. She had known better. Loghain had always struck her as a malevolent character, someone so ingrained with evil that there was no end to it. She was calling for another mug when one of the soldiers made a joke about the King having been a golden boy who wouldn't have lasted in the battle much longer anyways. Her eyes constricted, the icy blue turning a cloudy, dark colour. She had gripped the new, steaming mug as hard as she dared. She wanted to throw the steaming contents in the guard's face, or better yet, dig her dagger deep into his heart. Her King had never been such a coward as that. He may have been golden in colour and character, but there wasn't a shred of cowardice in the Fereldan King's disposition and everyone knew that. For people to turn so quickly made her ill. The bartender looked at her curiously and she waved him off. Shutting her eyes closed, she had tried to focus her rage, keeping it quelled. An all out battle in a tavern even as small as this would draw attention to her for sure. Eventually, her anger had subsided and the guards had taken to a game of dice. 

She'd observed a Chantry sister, cloaked and hooded in the corner, crying silently over a bottle of some sort of whiskey. Curiousity piqued, she'd made her way to the back of the tavern. The only thing she could discern was a whispered "Marjolaine" as the sister twirled what Megara immediately recognized as an Antivan coin on the table. _Now what is a Chantry sister doing disguised in her own village, completely in her cups and crying over a lost lover...with a coin from Orlais?_ She had certainly looked Orlesian and even the soft whisper she had uttered carried a trace of the country's dialect. She had studied the woman until she'd dried her tears and seemed to regain her composure. 

It had been shortly after this that the Wardens and the Witch entered the tavern. As soon as Megara recognized them for Wardens, and who Alistair was, she stepped back into the shadows as far as she could. She'd known it would get messy. Alistair Theirin looked more like his half brother Cailan than anyone gave him credit for, so Megara was surprised that these guards didn't notice that, only that he was a Warden. They'd immediately attacked and Megara had watched from the corner, silently. The female Warden traveling with them was extraordinarily skilled with a sword, she'd rarely seen skill of that caliber. The Witch more or less stood back from the fray, not engaging but seeming to stay ready to assist. What was most surprising, was that the Orlesian sprang from the corner, throwing off her cloak and had drawn daggers to enter the battle. Calling it a battle wasn't truly fair, the handful of guards was drunk and had been beaten out of the tavern rather quickly, with a message to return to Loghain. 

When the Orlesian introduced herself to the Wardens and began talking about visions from the Maker and practically begging to join them, Megara had nearly laughed aloud. The girl sounded delusional. The female Warden had accepted her without much hesitation however, causing the raven-haired witch to roll her eyes and Alistair to frown. Shaking her head, Megara had exited the tavern to head for the woods for the night. She wasn't comfortable staying in the tavern's rooms if they were as well.

She came upon the party again as they managed to get themselves surrounded by black bears just outside of Lothering. They were now joined by the Qunari who had been locked into a cage at the outskirts of the town. Megara had offered to pick his lock, but he'd refused. She frowned, seeing him with them, as he'd outright refused to speak much to her. Looking for some herbs for a local healer, she had exited the town and discovered him. Shocked at the brutal manner in which the Chantry had condemned him, she had immediately run over to see what she could do. He had looked her over for a fraction of a moment and pronounced her unworthy of speaking to. Angered, she had kicked his cage and asked why not. All he would say was, "Your soul is dark and seeps out of you like a stench. I can smell it even if most cannot. Be gone from here." Stubbornly, she had went to pick the lock anyways. The Qunari had reached his hands out of the cage, grasping hers and crushing her fingers. Yelping in pain, she met his eyes and felt fear for the first time in a long time. "I...I'm sorry," she had fumbled, dropping her lockpick and backing away. He had glared at her silently and refused to utter another word. It had been enough to startle her into leaving, though.

Now, for a group which should have been fearless and able to disperse the bears with no trouble, they nearly got themselves killed. These were not animals she could seem to communicate with, for some reason. They were tainted from the Blight, possibly. Megara dropped silently from a tree where she had been watching in amusement, to swiftly dispatch two of the bears and scare the rest of them away. 

"Wardens who can't handle bears, now there is a thing I'd not thought to see in my lifetime" she had quipped, cleaning off her dagger and returning it to the jeweled hilt on her belt. The group was stunned to say the least, of a mage dropping from a tree and using a dagger instead of a staff. 

Morrigan immediately recognized her potential and suggested that the Wardens invite her to join their cause. "She obviously has some use, if she is trained in more than one art an can evade even my own detection," she reasoned while looking at her intently. 

Megara had been slightly intimidated and oddly aroused. The Witch was much more stunning in the light, skin as pale as milk and looked to be as creamy as well. And much of that skin was showing, too. She dressed quite skimpishly, her ample bosom just covered and her dark pants just below her hips. Her eyes were entrancing and there was an odd quality about her that drew Megara in. 

"Uh...thank you. My name is Megara Rialton. At your service." She had bowed with a flourish, eliciting a giggle from the flame haired girl and a frown from Alistair. He had vehemently objected until Tara agreed with Morrigan. 

"Uhhmm, should we really be picking up a straggler like this? I don't trust her. She seems...sneaky." Alistair had said, his arms crossed, watching her. Megara had grinned in return and stuck her tongue out at him.

"I am sneaky as well, and here I am. We need some individuals with their wits about them, Alistair. We must counteract you and that mangy mutt." Morrigan had countered, her disdain for the Mabari hound Megara had just noticed evident. 

"I don't think we've much of a choice in being picky, Alistair, we need all the help we can get right now," the female Warden had said gently, placing her hand on his arm. Her touch seemed to cause him to be undone. He had thrown his arms up in frustration and walked off. He was always submissive to her. Megara found that highly amusing. 

"Might I inquire, what are your names and exactly what it is you need help with?" Megara had asked.

"I apologize. My name is Tara Cousland, only...surviving daughter of my name of Highever. I am a Warden, as is Alistair and we journey to stop the Blight and avenge King Cailan's death...." she had continued for some time, explaining most of what Megara had already known. As she had expected, Morrigan was indeed special, a daughter of the Witch of the Wilds. She was intrigued. After a bit of arguing, Megara agreed to Tara’s terms and it had been chaos since. But Megara reveled in chaos; it kept her alive and aware. She had grown bored and restless with the stale environment of the forest and the first mention of killing these monsters called Darkspawn was all it took to awaken her desire for this fight. Although Sten had not protested at her joining, the first night she spent with the group in camp, she had overheard him approach Tara and voice his objections. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to earn his trust.

It was only a single day later when they were ambushed by the Crows. How word had traveled that fast was beyond her, but Megara suspected the soldiers they'd bested in the tavern had something to do with it all. She also suspected that Loghain had been wary of stragglers in the first place and had hired the Crows to pick off any of them. The Crows fought well. Megara hadn't been tested like that in ages and she enjoyed it. It was their first true battle together as a team and everyone had been shocked afterwards at how seamlessly they'd come together. Was this meant to be? Megara would never have believed a story like this if anyone had told her, even sober. For them to read each other so swiftly, keeping each other's backs and stopping such a force of enemies, was unheard of. Megara had been drunk on the feel of it, so triumphant was she. Tara and Alistair had seemed much the same way as did Leliana, while Morrigan and Sten were their usual selves, silent and pessimistic, respectively. Finding Zevran, still alive, was the kicker. Leliana had made to slit his throat, with Alistair voicing agreement, but Tara and Megara's voices joined together in unison: "Wait!" Megara wasn't used to having a leader, or even being part of a group, but she acquiesced to the other woman, allowing her to question the rogue. Even bloodied, he was handsome. His voice sent shivers of delight down Megara's spine, which she promptly ignored and scowled at him for daring to illicit such a response from her. By the time the rest of them had argued out the assassin's fate, she and Morrigan had already helped him to his feet and begun healing and bandaging him. 

"Well, that's settled them, assassin. I will be watching you, though" Tara had told him, her gaze a mite icier than usual.

"As will I, elf" Sten had chimed in, his words always surprising everyone as he was so silent much of the time. 

"Ah, but watching me is half the fun! I am quite entertaining, I assure you," he had remarked sassily, garnering a laugh from only Morrigan and herself.

The three of them had fell in behind the rest as they traveled, candidly speaking and questioning each other. Megara couldn't hear enough of Antiva and Zevran was only too eager to oblige. She was careful with what information she gave, inwardly chiding herself for making friends as it were. She pushed her conscience to the back of her mind and engaged without hindrance. Zevran was amusing and lovely to look at it, as was Morrigan and her dry humor. It was hilarious to no end to watch her best anyone with her sharp tongue, especially Alistair, who fell into her trap every single time. Making camp was an entertaining ordeal itself. 

That had all happened so swiftly and now here they were, returned to Ostagar to look for the bodies of the King and the Wardens' leader, Duncan, as well as some papers that she thought unlikely to find. The area had still been swamped with Darkspawn. They had used many potions and bandages as they made their way to the Tower of Ishal. Alistair found the cache of papers he sought, to both his relief and dismay. Leliana was constantly hunting herbs and Zevran pick pocketing as he pleased. They had just made their way across the bridge when Megara spied Cailan's body first.

Now, Megara beckoned Zevran to help her silently, unsheathing her dagger. That’s what she loved about the rogue elf. Megara and Zevran could communicate without speaking and this was no exception. They nodded to each other and softly padded around the grieving Wardens with their blades. Megara’s was a fine blue-black dagger, glittering in the cold sun. It had been carved from a dragon’s tooth and she had named it so. Carefully, they both climbed the broken rocks and boulders to get to the top of the cross which Cailan had been tied to. His beautiful, golden body was covered in dry blood and dirt. He had been stripped of everything but his underclothes. Miraculously, the crows had not pecked out his eyes or bothered his flesh much. Had his eyes been blue or green? Megara snapped out of her momentary daze and whispered to Zevran, “On three. One, two, three.” She drew Dragon’s Tooth expertly through the rotten rope, a little too easily and she nicked the King’s wrist. Wincing at the smell of death, she braced herself and nodded once more to Zevran. They carefully took hold of his body and brought it to the ground. As they moved him, a hideous grating noise sounded from his back. It had been broken at some point. Megara gagged and her eyes watered. Zevran raised his eyebrows in surprise at her but she merely glared back. He walked off and Megara moved Cailan’s arms to cross his chest, pausing only momentarily before she quickly slipped the carved ruby ring from his pinky finger and pocketing it inside her jerkin. She was baffled that all his jewelry had been left, but his armor taken. Megara stood and walked away towards Zevran to give the Wardens some privacy.

The rogues watched as Alistair practically crawled over to the King’s body, shoving Tara’s pathetic attempts at an embrace away. The Cousland Warden’s back stiffened and she stood to walk with prideful precision to where Zevran and Megara shuffled anxiously. “Thank you both. We had hoped to find King Cailan in the battlefield and not…not like this. He was a great warrior and king. He did not deserve this death….wretched Darkspawn” she cursed, pacing off. Megara observed her with curiosity and something resembling pity. Megara thought that once the Warden might have been pretty. Before all of the horrors she had been tested against. “Her hair must have shone once” she thought to herself, kicking a clump of frozen mud with the toe of her dragon-skin boots. Her own hair was a beautiful gold. Gold like the torques so beloved of the Chantry priests, like the coins that bandits killed over, like Cailan’s had been. Megara furrowed her brow again. Zevran touched her arm. 

“Shall we dig a grave, build a pyre? In Antiva there are so many different ways to dispose of a body,” he mused, smiling that charming grin of his.

“No, this is a king, Zev. One does not simply light him on fire and call it a day” Megara shot back. 

Zevran shrugged. “Fine by me. I was just trying to be helpful. Once, I had to dispose of the body of a princess. Do you want to know…” he began.

“Zevran!” Megara cried in exasperation. He merely grinned again and sauntered off. Both his careless demeanor and the way he sauntered his hips as he walked away infuriated her. More so, the fact that she watched him. 

Alistair had stood and composed himself at last. Tara had handed him some cloth and water from a skin to clean his face with. Megara waited a moment and approached the Wardens. “I am sorry, Alistair. Cailan didn’t deserve this.” “King Cailan” he growled at her. Megara bit her cruel retort and ducked her head ever so slightly, stepping back. Tara intervened, “Alistair, she meant no harm. What would you have us do? We cannot take his body to Denerim. Loghain will have us killed and destroy the body.” Megara thought silently to herself that she doubted very much that Queen Anora would even care about her husband’s body now, as she surely hadn’t cared about his body when he had been alive and well. She kept her own counsel this time, however.

“No, we cannot take him back to Denerim. Nor can I bear to burn him here, in this god-forsaken land of treachery. Loghain’s treachery” Alistair clenched his fists in fury. Suddenly his face cleared and his eyes became watery once again. “We’ll take him to Redcliffe. We’ll give him a proper funeral there.” 

Warden Tara smiled softly at that and replied, “And Duncan, too.” 

“Yes, thank you, Tara. Your support means the world to me” Alistair said, looking at Tara with a sadly hilarious look of admiration. Tara had the decency to blush and turned to the rest of them. 

“Sten and Zevran, I want you to look for wood, anything really, and build a sled for the bodies. Morrigan, with me to find Duncan’s body, gods willing. Megara, there is a small stream at the bottom of this hill. Get Alistair clean water so he can clean and wrap the King’s body and then Duncan’s. Everyone keep a sharp look out for more Darkspawn.” 

Megara tried to protest, weakly. Morrigan rolled her eyes and made some sarcastic comment. Why the hell didn’t Tara send me with one of the other groups!? Surely Tara would rather stay and help Alistair! Megara fumed to herself. The Wardens obviously had feelings for each other. And yet…Tara didn’t know. About her, her past. None of the others did. Except Alistair, perhaps, he had to know something, to treat her so vehemently.

Sighing in frustration, Megara trudged off to the stream, not paying attention to her surroundings. Her black Antivan dragon hide boots snapped and cracked branches and sticks as she stormed through the wooded area surrounding Ostagar’s ruins. She stomped along, uninhibited by the traditional robes that Circle mages were required to wear. The moment she escaped the Circle she paid a traveling merchant stolen coin for his finest wares. Her black leather riders were tucked into her boots, over dark blue cotton leggings to prevent chafing. Her tunic was also black and inlaid with Antivan silk. The sleeves puffed out pretentiously, a watery blue, like the Rialto Bay. Zevran had commented, upon meeting Megara, that she was dressed finer than an Antivan whore, for which she had promptly punched him square in the jaw. She usually braided her long, lustrous locks into elaborate designs down her back. Things had been so chaotic; however that she had simply tied it back into one long braid. She was not slim by any means, but her body was firm and taut. Her breasts were supple and on more than one occasion she’d been told her arse was the finest in Ferelden. Her skin was tanned and as smooth as a high dragon’s egg. Her jaw was sharp but did not jut out. A thin scar ran from her lip down to her chin and she had several tattoos. One was of an intricate tree on her neck. 

Blasting through the dead and frozen foliage like a brooding child, Megara never heard the Darkspawn approach. She had reached the small stream, its water frozen on top. Kneeling down onto the frosted grassy bank, she took the heel of her blade and smashed the thin layer of ice open, ripping a pocket large enough for the water jug and to drink from. She pressed her face into the cool, clean water. It was shockingly cold on her throat and filled her belly with a searing coldness. It was bliss on her tongue and skin. She drank deeply, her fingers flexing the cold ground as the Darkspawn crept out of the forest. She heard them too late. Bursting up from the water once she saw one of the twisted beast’s reflections on the water, they were upon her. She rolled to her back and blasted a fire spell from her hands to buy time. The first Darkspawn Hurlock was wearing the tatters of a cloak and caught fire instantly. Its animalistic scream filled the air, birds shooting from the trees and taking flight as the creature stumbled back against a boulder. The second was momentarily distracted. Megara tried to quickly shift her weight and grab her staff from beneath her but claws grabbed her shoulders, dragging her into the frozen stream. She was underwater before she could scream for help. She held her breath, kicking and digging her nails into the creature’s hands. Her clothes were not heavy but they stuck to her and made movement nearly impossible. No matter how she thrashed the creature was stronger and relentless. Her lungs began to burn from lack of air and panic overcame her. She pushed off the stream bed with her feet, against the Darkspawn but it rolled her over and pushed her down again, further under the surface. She was completely desperate now, her vision was blacking out and her body was weak. Water came rushing into her mouth unbidden and she coughed involuntarily. Seeing stars, Megara thought she was at an end. 

Then there were fingers in her hair again, human this time. Yanking her head above the water, a hand was at her back, pushing and pulling and then supporting her as she fell, coughing and spewing the icy water, onto the bank. She rolled to her side, everything still black, her lungs still full of water. After coughing up most of the water and several huge gulps of blessed air, her vision began to clear in spurts. It was still blurry and her body was shivering uncontrollably. Her ears were ringing and she couldn’t properly raise her head to see who had rescued her. Her head felt so heavy that it seemed to loll about of its own accord. On the third attempt she properly tilted it up and opened her swollen eyes to see. Staring back at her was Alistair.


	2. While You Were Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megara is on the mend but they must make haste to catch up with the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be patient with me, as I get the hang of typing up my fanfics and getting them posted properly. I have found several fantastic and long-running stories to draw inspiration from as far as proper setup goes. If you have any suggestions or see any grammatical errors please do let me know. The Origins story, characters and settings are all Bioware property. I don’t own any of it and receive no compensation. Pretty please with lyrium dust on top leave a review, even a couple of lines. Gratitude.

**30:Dragon, 26th of Wintermarch**

She still had a fever. They had dried her clothes and built a fire but it was too late. She caught some sickness. In her delirium she worried that she had the Blight. In their camp, not far from Ostagar, Leliana took care of her. Only she and Sten remained. The rest of their comrades had pressed on towards Redcliffe. They'd come across a merchant and his son right outside of Ostagar, whom the Wardens had purchased supplies from. Megara didn’t remember much. Leliana told her that there were bandits that they'd fought and been forced to kill, later taking their horses and pack animals. When Alistair had saved her from the Darkspawn and pulled her from the icy river, she had taken one look at him and fainted. From what Leliana had told her, Alistair refused to make camp and wait for Megara to heal, instead pushing forward to Redcliffe with Duncan and Cailan’s bodies. Leliana offered to stay and nurse Megara back to proper health. Sten in turn decided to stay as protection, though only out of concern for Leliana it seemed. The Wardens, Zevran and Morrigan and all of their animals began the trek northwest towards Redcliffe Castle.

Megara’s fever had fell upon her as swiftly as the Darkspawn had, consuming and ravaging her body. She shook, shivered, cried out in her sleep. Leliana had to have Sten forcibly hold her down so that Leliana could administer medicine and broth. Sten had built a roaring fire, despite Leliana’s protestations that they might attract more Darkspawn before they could move Megara.

"Such a large fire is sure to attract foes! We cannot move her in this state, Sten." Leliana had pursed her lips at him, but he had just continued building the fire. 

"Unless you warm her, she will not live. If she lives at all. It would be for the best, though," he had countered, dusting off his hands and moving rocks around the large fire.

"Why do you loathe her so, she hasn't done anything to you?" Leliana inquired, running a cloth with water over Megara's sweating forehead.

Sten had surveyed them both, shaking his head. "It is the same as I told her. Her soul is dark and I can smell it."

"Darker than yours? Sten, you admitted to killing a family over your sword, yet we know nothing of Megara's past and you judge her!?" the angry bard had exclaimed. She had her own past as well, that she had purged at the Chantry. The Maker had given her another chance, a new life.

"You would not understand and I do not expect you to." He said that with an air of finality and they'd barely spoken since.

Sten was convinced the horde was moving elsewhere. Leliana agreed, worrying where they would surface next. Sten had built a makeshift shelter of rotted wood and branches against a small hill, about a half mile from the stream. It wasn’t much more than a lean to, but it kept the wind off them. Miraculously it did not snow. Sten hunted rabbits and small fowl and Leliana silently cared for Megara. Sometimes she sang to her, sometimes praying aloud. This continued and Leliana began to worry that Megara would not wake as she was weakening fast. Megara's skin was clammy, thin and translucent. Her pulse was weak. 

Finally, on the fourth morning, Megara’s fever broke and she became lucid again. She could see clearly although her head was still fuzzy and heavy. She also had an unquenchable thirst. Leliana only gave her small amounts of warm water and some broth until Megara was able to sit up without fainting or vomiting. By afternoon she could stand and stumble about the camp with help. She was a little weak but determined to get going. Sten returned with a pheasant and made a delicious stew while Leliana packed their belongings. 

Megara had been shocked to discover Sten still at the camp, his attitude towards her was nothing short of hateful. Still, she had wanted to thank him. Digging in her pack, she looked for something she thought he might like. She didn't know him well, or to be true, at all. As he was always silent, she chose a still-life painting. It seemed appropriate. It was something she had picked up in Recliffe village some time ago. Wobbling, she approached him. He was standing over the fire, stirring the soup he'd made. Leliana had taken clothes to the stream to wash, they could just see her bent over the water. She was nervous, which made her light headedness worse and she struggled with what to say.

"Yes, what is it?" Sten grumbled, without turning.

Of course he knows I'm standing behind him. Still unable to think of anything to say, she tapped his massive shoulder. Straightening his back, muscles rippling, he turned to her. His face was expressionless as he towered over her. Stumbling over her words, she thrust the picture at him. The picture seemed small in his massive hands and she fretted as he studied it silently. 

"I just thought, well...thank you. For guarding Leliana. So she could care for me." Megara cleared her throat and turned away.

"Thank you," came the warrior's quiet reply. Shocked to pieces, Megara turned to watch him still studying the painting. Leliana was approaching from the hill and Megara went back to her pack to find something to thank her with as well.

After Leliana had hung the laundry near the fire, she came to check on Megara with a bowl of the steaming soup. Megara devoured her first bowl too quickly and threw half of it up behind the hill. The second bowl she exercised restraint and patience with, eating slowly. As the hot soup settled in her empty stomach she felt her strength returning. Leliana watched her eat.

"You are looking better, already. I think we can safely leave this afternoon if you feel up to it. We should get to Redcliffe as soon as possible." Leliana smiled, observing her slowly finish the stew. Sten put out the campfire and rinsed out the cooking pot, tying it onto one of the horse’s saddles. 

"Thank you. I agree, we should make haste. Where did we get horses from again?" she asked, scraping the last of the soup from the bowl. Laughing, Leliana retold the story of Bodahn and his son, Sandal. 

"Oh, I almost forgot. Here," Megara said, handing Leliana a small silver hair clip, with a porcelain flower attached to the end

.

"It's beautiful!" the woman exclaimed, immediately sticking it in her short, flame-coloured hair.

"I just wanted to thank you for saving my life. I pick all these ends and odds up on my travel and I thought perhaps you'd like it. Better than Sten, at least," she joked.

"Oh, I do! Thank you Megara, that is most kind of you." The other woman beamed happily and Megara felt better about holding up the traveling.

Once Leliana was satisfied that Megara would not vomit again, she led her into one of the numerous underground caves that housed small pockets of steaming water and pools. The underground geysers riddled the hills around Ostagar. Megara had used one before but was unaware that these existed near Ostagar. Although the water smelled acidic and a bit bitter, after Leliana helped Megara undress and step into a small pool, she decided the warmth and being clean was worth any lingering smell. Megara’s aching body responded quickly to the heat of the pool, her muscles loosening and as she limbered up she stretched, smiling at Leliana. “Thank you, for caring for me and saving my life. I owe you and Sten a great debt.” The soap she had pulled from her backpack helped the smell some, it was cherry blossom and honey scented, something she had paid handsomely for in Denerim some time ago. She scrubbed her limbs, the dirt washing away along with her nausea. She rose from the steaming water on much steadier legs to dry her thinning body. The water coursed off her thighs and breasts to pool onto the rock in little puddles. Leliana was watching her intently and Megara wasn’t sure whether to blush or worry.

“Of course, Megara. The Chantry teaches us to be resilient. ‘Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure.’* “

“You have my thanks regardless. How many days was I fevered?” Megara queried as she dressed in her clothing, which Leliana had washed and repaired as best she could. Megara was dismayed that the blue silk sleeves had been irreparably stained, but no matter, she would buy new in Redcliffe.

“Nearly five days, you fought off this illness. You have remarkable strength.”

Megara thanked her as she brushed out her long hair. Shockingly, it was easy to comb through. Megara though it would have been tangled and unkempt, what with her tossing and turning and sweating for so long. 

“I washed and brushed your hair. I brushed it every day, it seemed to soothe you. And of course, it is so beautiful,” Leliana said, standing and smiling.

Something seemed off in her grin but Megara couldn’t place it. She felt better but it was hard to be as observant and keep her wits as sharp after being sick for so long. She tightened her belt and stretched. “Let’s go. I’m eager to see what Arl Eamon has planned and if there is any news of Loghain and Anora.”

“Indeed, Sten seems impatient to be clear of Lothering as am I.” the former Chantry priestess replied. Megara wanted to know why this Orlesian bard was so intent to be off and who Marjolaine was.

They exited the cave and began climbing the hill to the camp. Megara found her strength was indeed a bit sapped, still, as she stumbled and had to lean into Leliana to make it to the top. Leliana patted her hand as they slowly ascended and said, “You spoke during your fever dreams.” Megara tensed but dared not look at her comrade, lest she give away her apprehension. She let out a nervous giggle. 

“Oh? Truly? Fever dreams are known to be most interesting. I apologize, did I say anything amusing?” she asked, trying to keep her voice as even and calm as possible. A task made harder as her throat was still raw and dry. They were nearing the plateau, where Sten waited with the two horses. He would walk, as he always did. 

With the fire smoldering behind her, Leliana turned to Megara, her bright eyes glittering. “Yes, you did. Many things you said,” she replied simply and walked away. 

Megara’s tongue felt thick in her mouth as she allowed Sten to help her climb astride her horse. 

“It is good to see you well again. We have a ways to travel and many dangers ahead,” he commented, while adjusting the stirrups on the impatient mare. 

While Megara was shocked that he had spoken kindly to her, still she studied Leliana as she easily lifted herself into the saddle of the other horse. “Yes, Sten. Thank you. We face many dangers indeed. Both known and to be discovered.”

*-Taken from the Chant of Light, Canticle of Trials. 1:1  
 ****Although horses are never mentioned in Origins, they are also not specifically excluded as existing. I did take a liberty here and somewhat strayed from canon. Because they traveled such vast distances at times, it would seem that must have used some sort of pack animals at times. I hope you are enjoying the story thus far, and will continue with Megara on her perilous journey.**


	3. Succulent Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This chapter was actually quite long in my notebook so I had to split it somewhere. I am not fast forwarding any, but in the four days it takes Megara to reach Redcliffe, the battle has already ensued and been won. If it seems short, I apologize but once you read the fourth, I hope you will understand that I broke it where I did. Pretty please with lyrium dust on top leave a review, even a couple of lines. Gratitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still learning this. If you have any suggestions for using this site, I would be much obliged. I have a few more chapters typed up and will try to get them all posted. Thank you so much for reading. <3

**30:Dragon, 29th of Wintermarch**

The air was still and cold in Redcliffe, as if death itself reverberated from the ground and into the sky. Megara shivered as she un-mounted from her horse. There was no stable hand to give the reins to. Looking around at the empty and eerie courtyard, Megara wrinkled her face in puzzlement.

"Perhaps we have missed them and they have marched to Denerim to take action against Loghain," Leliana offered, walking up to stand next to Megara. She stood too close and Megara could feel her breath on her neck. 

Frowning, she took the reins and led the horses into the stable herself. Still no one to be found, the trio began unpacking the horses and rubbing them down. Sten was silent per his usual, carrying hay and lifting the saddles as easily as if the heavy items were instead down-filled pillows. How a down-pillow and bed would be nice, Megara thought, patting the grey mare's hind as she closed the stable door and dusted her hands off. Leliana was grating on her nerves, so cheerful was she. She had been singing some sort of Chantry song the entire time they tended to the two horses. Megara needed to know how much she knew.

Upon exiting the stable, they studied the village closer. Many buildings were burnt, large dark stains upon the ground in places and the pungent smell of oil hung thick in the air. Sten suggested they traverse further into the village to determine why everything was so abandoned. Once they reached the inner settlement, some villagers were milling about. The trio split up, Sten off to who knew where, Leliana to the Chantry and Megara took a turn into the first building she found, the blacksmith. After an hour conversing with a good-natured, albeit intoxicated blacksmith, Megara emerged from the smithy frowning. She had learned of the horrors which had transpired just two days ago, feeling guilty that she had not been here to help defend the poor citizens. Her curiosity was piqued as well, for even the blacksmith nor his daughter seemed to know exactly what caused the animated corpses to ravage the town. They only knew it had stopped with the Wardens help. The daughter seemed frightened to speak at all and Megara suspected she may have known a bit more than she let on, but as the girl was so fearful she let her be.

Avoiding the Chantry, Megara made the trek to the Castle to see if she could find out some truth to the matters. There were guards posted at the gate, restricting access, but something of that nature had never stopped Megara. She wanted to lay low and keep out of sight until she had gathered as much intelligence as possible, before anyone knew she had arrived. Slinking into the Castle by way of the kitchens, Megara was momentarily distracted by the warmth of the oven and aroma of bread and stew baking. She bribed one of the kitchen urchins with a silver piece to give her a bread bowl with a heaping ladle of stew. The poor lad had never even seen a silver before. She cradled the food on her lap as she settled herself into a corner of the kitchen beside some grain sacks to eat and to listen.

Before she had even finished her soup, she had learned that Arl Eamon was deathly ill, a mage was locked in the dungeons and a child was being sequestered and sedated in the topmost tower of the Castle. One scullery maid whispered of demons and possession but had her ears boxed roundly before Megara could listen for more. Although the cook had dismissed the urchin's tale as gossip, Megara wasn't so sure. Demon possession seemed just the thing to cause the attacks on the village. And it would also explain why one of the cooks was grumbling about feeding a "platoon" of Templars and Circle mages. Tara, or perhaps Alistair, had called for help from the Circle. The only plausible explanation was someone was indeed possessed by a demon strong enough to require them going into the Fade to rescue the person. Which also, Megara reasoned, explained why a child was sedated and locked into a tower. To take such precarious measures to save the child, she always discerned he must be the Arlessa's son. A cook's child would just have been killed, to rid the demon and unnecessary trouble. The only missing piece of this puzzle was the mage in custody in the dungeons. Was he from Ferelden? Was he recently in the Circle, would she know him or her? She had escaped the Circle nearly two years ago, so the possibilities were endless. Plucking a roll from the basket by the oven, Megara carefully made her way out of the kitchen and into the shadows of the servants' halls towards the dungeons.

She would be doing a lot of skulking in the shadows, she thought dourly, if Templars were coming to Redcliffe. She had half a mind to just up and leave. Yet there was her curiosity. Not to mention her damned, recently acquired, sense of heroism. She wanted to help save Ferelden. Wanting to save someone's skin other than her own was a new and most unpleasant sensation she was wresting with. Megara could hear guards arguing in an adjacent hallway. She ducked quickly into a storeroom. She didn't look, just stepped swiftly inside the darkened room to listen. She stepped to the side of the door to hear the guards better, her hand ever on her dagger. Suddenly, she felt warm breath on her neck, along with the intoxicating smell of Antivan peaches. Grinning, Megara drew her blade and whirled around but not before she was pinned firmly to the wall, one hand behind her back. Though not the hand holding Dragon's Tooth. A husky voice whispered in her ear, "And what might a beautiful mage be slinking about the dungeons for, without even letting her comrades know she was here. Who thought her to be near death? Who were…constricted, with worry" he said, twisting her arm as he whispered the last sentence into her ear for emphasis. He let his nose rub against her neck and leaned his taut body against hers, still preventing her from seeing his face. She traced her dagger lightly over his ear, at the same time wedging her knee between his legs. Her blade drew a small bit of blood. She sheathed her dagger, watching the blood slowly run down his earlobe to his neck in the light from the doorway. Leaning into him, she licked the blood all the way up to his earlobe, catching it and pulling the tender flesh into her mouth, sucking on it until her captor moaned. The blood was warm and spicy on her tongue. He shuddered against her, releasing her arm behind her back and moving that hand down to grab her ass. She could feel him harden against her as he kissed her collarbone and used his free hand to run his fingers in her hair, massaging the nape of her neck. That little hollow brought more pleasure than Megara expected and she allowed herself to close her eyes and enjoy it momentarily. Before she allowed herself to succumb to the elf's tempting caresses, she bit his neck, slipping from his grasp and out the door, as quickly and silently as a moving shadow.

_**While Megara is a mage, she does possess many of the same skills as a Rogue would. She is only 22 years of age at this point and had studied at the Circle only a few years. Her past is yet to be revealed, but suffice it to say that in her situation, she needed to learn discreet survival skills, ones that would not land her in the hands of a Templar. I had a couple of messages asking where she was a Rogue or Mage, as she does carry and seem fond of her dagger. More of that to come down the road. Hope you enjoyed and please leave a review or feel free to send me any questions or comments._


	4. Escape

**9:30 Dragon, 29th of Wintermarch**

****

Spinning on her heels, Megara sprinted down the hall towards the cells where the prisoners were kept. The guards who had been arguing earlier were now standing over another small group of guards who were playing at a game of dice. She could smell the stench of ale and sweat. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and slipped past them easily. There were not many guards left, to be honest, after the demon's destruction. And it was only a small matter of time before it overpowered the sleeping draught sedating Connor and began to wreak havoc again.

Megara knew she had little time to waste getting information from the mage before Connor or the demon one awoke. She couldn't believe that Anora and the others truly believed a simple sleeping draught would keep that demon at bay for long. The demon lies in the Fade and the Fade connects with dreams. Connor would start dreaming soon and then they'd all be living a nightmare. Quickly, Megara searched the cells, losing hope as all of them seemed empty. Finally, the last cell contained what she sought. "Megara!" the mage exclaimed, struggling to stand up from his bed of rags and filth.

Megara hadn't expected this. As her former classmate grinned at her and grasped the cell bars she struggled to compose herself and quickly form a plan of action. Jowan was not being kept well, she noticed. She could smell his rank robes and piss pot. "When did you escape the Circle, finally?" she queried, digging in her pockets for a pick.

Jowan filled her in on the entire escapade, she deftly picked the lock. She couldn't believe he had abandoned Lily and shown his hand with blood magic. As Jowan prattled on, almost happily, she stuffed some of the rags under his thin blanket. Finally, the smell and his revelations brought her temper to a boiling point and she whirled on him, fire in her icy eyes. "You are quite carefree and careless at the same time, Jowan. Not only did you abandon the one you claim to love, you killed many innocents, revealed your blood magic and now you have worked for Loghain! Curses, you are but a fool!" and she stomped off the other way, without waiting to see if he would follow.

After procuring some food, clean clothes and a bath of cool water, Megara had her answers as well as her plan. Jowan was astounded at how well she knew the Castle, but then no one had ever asked her if she had been here before. She and Jowan had spent many years together at the Circle yet he had never asked anything of her past. They had not been the best of friends, but he had always helped her when she needed it. Deciding what to do with him had weighed heavily on her. She did feel she owed him something, for all the assistance he had given her, yet she was torn. He had abandoned Lily, whom he had always claimed he loved more than anything. If he was willing to forsake her, to work for a man renowned for his evil ways and poison an innocent man, there was truly no hope for him. Jowan's professed innocence was nothing more than another trick he used to achieve his wretched, selfish goals. All this, Megara told Jowan before she drew Dragon's Tooth and gave him his final choice. He could draw the blade himself, or she would. She would not allow him to hurt anyone else. After much crying and gnashing of teeth, Jowan let Megara lead him back to his cell where he slit his own throat. Megara would not allow herself to look away, even as his life's blood gurgled from the gash on his neck and he choked, spattering her pants with blood. Once he was still, she retrieved her dagger and cleaned it, locking his cell once more.

Her head was pounding now but Megara pushed the horse harder, jumping over gulleys, ditches and fallen branches. After Jowan's disturbing revelations and the deed she had been forced to commit, she found that she needed to get away for a bit to think, before she acted again. The air around Redcliffe smelled of trouble and Megara knew it was dangerous to waste what precious little time she had, they all had, but still she fled. Nearly everything in her life which she had done had been dangerous. Over time she had learned to do things with cold calculation, but always with risk. This was no different. She moved fluidly with the horse as the great beast easily galloped through a field. She had to think clearly now. The Templars would likely arrive that night. The Arl was unconscious with no foreseeable cure. Tara and Alistair were beset by grief and not thinking clearly, further complicating matters. She needed her team to be strong and clear-headed. Only Zevran and Morrigan seemed to be reasonable and able to keep their emotions out of this.

She had bonded quickly and easily with both the rogue and Wilds witch. After coming to the group on Morrigan's insistence, the two spent many nights holed up in Morrigan's tent discussing magic, among other things. Megara was fascinated by her and the powers she held. Morrigan in her turn, seemed fascinated by the strength of Megara's own powers, which she was still learning to wield. And so shortly before Zevran and the Crows ambushed the party, Megara had convinced Morrigan to instruct her. They would slink off into the woods, where Morrigan would brutally push the younger mage to her limits. Megara never gave up. She came back fighting each time, even when a spell overwhelmed her to the point which Morrigan would call a halt to the lesson.

As for the rogue, Megara was simply attracted to him. It had been some time since she had allowed a man, or woman for that matter, to seduce her. Once he had joined the traveling team, Megara flirted with him relentlessly and for the pure sport of it, especially since it seemed to vex Leliana and Tara so. She hadn't yet actually slept with him, but then she had her reasons.

Pulling the horse to a stop, she dismounted. She was frustrated and for once, confused. There was a child possessed by a demon waiting to awaken, a bard who knew some of her secrets and a Blight upon the land. Everything was going in what felt like 100 directions with no clear resolution. Kicking the grass, Megara came to a pond. She made to drink from it but thought better. She kicked the sand on the bank until she was spent, keeping her staff ready in her hand the entire time.

Finally, she made up her mind. She felt guilty for having fled to only have a childish tantrum, but she was resolved now and there was no turning back. She would find out what Leliana knew and if necessary, dispatch her from this earth. She would convince the Wardens to snap out of it and seek a cure for the Arl. And then there was the demon. She would deal with it personally, before it had a chance to escape and kill anyone else.

When she arrived back at the courtyard, both she and the steed panting, everything was in chaos. The Templars and mages had arrived.

_***Instead of letting the Warden kill or release Jowan, I twisted canon again, slightly, to allow my character kill him and provide a bit of background story on her. Many thanks for reading._


	5. At Innocence's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Pretty please with lyrium dust on top leave a review, even a couple of lines. Gratitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Updated 1/15/14 with additional content.

Chapter the Fifth: “At Innocence’s End”  
Rated: M for Mature

**9:30 Dragon, 29th of Wintermarch**

It was as if the world had been turned upside down. Again. Seventeen Templars for a mere 9 mages had arrived at Redcliffe Castle in force and fanfare. They had thundered into the courtyard on horses, the mages in a cart. They were practically treated as prisoners. Such a large party meant the demon inhabiting Connor must be more than they were letting on. Luckily, such a large party also meant the remaining castle staff would be busy feeding and accommodating the guests. Megara went undetected. She and Morrigan had been cloistered in Zevran’s bedroom whispering since Megara had come back from her day’s work. Morrigan had been angry with her, for killing Jowan. Not that Morrigan harbored any sentiment for anyone, seemingly, but she thought the mage could have been useful in fighting the Blight. When Megara had finally steered her to the conversation of what she planned to do with the demon, Morrigan was impressed. “I agree. A sensible approach. It must be done,” she had said, taking a drink of her wine. Megara studied her, wishing she possessed more of Morrigan’s skill. Morrigan would not teach Megara how to shape shift, but she was persistent and hoped that eventually, the powerful witch would share some of her secrets. She regarded the Morrigan as something of an elder sister.

Zevran stumbled backwards into the room as they were conversing, a mousy-haired servant with him, obviously heading towards the bed. Morrigan cleared her throat and the already undressing pair stopped in their tracks. Megara stood and glared at them both while Zevran just grinned and finished pulling his shirt off. 

“Tsk, tsk, shouldn’t you be helping settle all the new guests, wench?” she asked, drawing herself up to her full height in front of the girl. Morrigan did pose a very threatening figure when she so chose. She was a formidable looking woman and her voice carried weight, inflicting fear on those she chose. The girl immediately cowed, stammering an apology and tying her apron back on hastily. She dropped a clumsy curtsy and fled from the room in tears. Morrigan winked at Megara as Zevran threw himself exasperated onto the bed. 

“Now that you have ruined my sport, you should both have to join me in bed so that I can ravish you.” He laughed, propping himself up on one elbow. 

“I would rather bathe in toadstools,” Morrigan replied in disgust, sweeping out of the room.

Shaking his head, the elf turned his attention back to Megara, who was still glaring daggers at him. Dropping from his elbow to the pillow, he said exasperatedly, “You do not want, yet expect…” he began, with a teasing voice.

“You know nothing of what I desire, Antivan rogue!” she hissed, storming out of the room.

She was so angry that she hadn't paid much mind as to where she was going. She wound up in one of the smaller libraries, where Wardens Tara and Alistair were talking quietly, looking over a map. Alistair was standing and stretching when Megara entered.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here," she sputtered, making to turn and leave again.

"Oh, no, come in Megara," Tara said, smiling at her wearily. 

"I smell food. Will you ladies excuse me while I follow my nose?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, Alistair," Tara chuckled, waving him off. She had maps and books and scrolls spread all over the table. She looked weary and tired to the bone. She was leaning her face into her fist, propped up onto the table. Megara took a seat in one of the chairs, curling her feet under her and studying her leader.

"We've not been able to speak much, have we?" Tara asked, smiling and sitting up to shuffle her papers around.

"No, we haven't. But I must say, you look just as hungry as Alistair, and..." Megara trailed off, producing another knicked loaf of the brown bread from the pack slung over her shoulder. "Want some?" She asked as she waved the bread about. She grinned as Tara nearly snatched the bread from her, hunger evident in her eyes.

"You are such a sneak, Megara!" Tara laughed, tearing off a chunk of the delicious bread.

"I knooow. But I have my uses," she grinned back at the older woman. "So what are you plotting in here?" Megara asked, looking around at the many papers.

Tara sighed, chewing her bite. "Well, these are the treaties we retrieved from Morrigan. These are maps of Ferelden and some letters from various diplomats in the kingdom. I've just been trying to decide our best strategy for gathering our allies in the shortest amount of time. We must stop this Blight."

"You love being a Warden, don't you?" Megara asked, leaning back in her chair and resting her chin on her knee. 

Tara's face darkened briefly. "I do, I truly do. Though my path to becoming one was dark and filled with much pain and heartache," she paused a moment, looking at Megara. "Shall I tell you then?" Megara nodded, eager to hear the story.

"Alright then. I grew up the youngest daughter of Teryn Bryce Cousland, in Highever Castle. Do you know where that is?"

"I do believe so," Megara wrinkled her face, trying to picture exactly where it was and jog her memory. Cailan had never taken her there but she thought he had spoken of it before.

"Here. Look here, just there. See it?" Tara pushed the map towards Megara as much as the large table would allow, pointing to the place on the map which showed Highever Castle. Megara leaned up, perusing over the map with her elbows planted on the table. She looked hilarious. Tara laughed and Megara bristled.

"What in the Fade are you laughing at?" she said.

"You just look so preposterous in the way you move about. All knees and elbows," Tara chuckled again and Megara grinned. "Where was I? Oh. Well I was the youngest, meaning glory was never in the works for me. But I did want it so very badly. I wanted to be just like my father," she said wistfully, looking at the maps, idly running her fingers over the lands of her family. "But Fergus was the oldest and a boy besides, so he was the heir and Father meant to train him first. But I was determined. From the time I could walk I picked up a play sword and I kept at it. I would sneak into Fergus' lessons with Father and watch them. Once, when I was ten, I saw Fergus make a really stupid mistake." She stopped, laughing at the memory and Megara smiled back at her. "I jumped out of my hiding spot and took Fergus' wooden sword from where he had dropped it and showed him the flourish he was supposed to have done and I yelled 'See Fergus!' I didn't realize what I had done until everyone was laughing at me. I was ashamed but Father thought it was rather amusing. 'Alright, Pup, let's see what you've got, lass,' he said. So he sparred with me and I actually got him rather good, just below the knee. I wacked him so hard he was jumping about on one foot."

Megara smiled, tilting her head to the side and listening to her commander speak. Tara leaned back in her chair, propping her feet up on the table and crossing her arms.

"After that I was allowed to join in Fergus' lessons. He didn't mind while we were young, but as we got older, I got much better than him and he hated that. Oh, did he loathe me then!" Tara hooted in amusement. "He protested once to Father but Father said until he could beat me at sparring then he still had more to learn. And to this day, he hasn't beaten me."

"Where is your brother now?" Megara asked, instantly regretting it as a look of pain flashed across her comrade's face.

"He was killed at Ostagar. He was on a scouting party and none of them made it back." Tara's face twisted in pain. "All of my family are dead and I will see that Howe pays for their deaths."

Megara was intrigued. "But why Howe? What does he have to do with their deaths?"

Tara paused for a moment and Megara could see her visibly quelling the rage she had for the man. "I forget you were not at Ostagar with us. The reason I became a Warden...is that my father ordered it so as he lay dying, in a storeroom of our Castle, after being attacked in his own home by Howe and his men." The Warden paused for a moment, breathing deeply. "The night before my father and the rest of his retinue marched for Ostagar, Howe and his guards attacked at night, slaughtering my sister-in-law and her young son. They then brutally murdered our guests, our servants, everyone in sight. My father and mother forced me to escape with Duncan, who had to invoke the Right of Conscription to make me leave. My father made me promise to exact vengeance on Howe and this is a promise I intend to keep. One I will enjoy fulfilling." Tara trailed off, standing and pacing over to a window, frosted with the early evening's cold. 

Megara was stunned into silence. Finally, she stood and walked over to Tara. She leaned her forehead onto the cold glass, breathing little puffs of air onto the pane and watching them disappear. "Tara. You are our leader. My commander and I am going to help you end this Blight. Although I may not have pledged an oath to you on this, I will so swear that I will not stop until I have seen justice come to your hands, until Howe is dead at your feet and his guards with him." She turned her head sideways on the glass, looking meaningfully at the other woman. Tara's eyes were glistening but she managed to hold in her tears.

"Thank you Megara. I am honoured to have you at my side and my Father and Mother would be glad to know of your oath." Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked back to the table, pulling the maps and treaties back to her. 

With renewed determination Megara paused only a moment before walking out of the library and with purpose to her own room. She stopped to get her short bow and a hooded cloak. She did not use her bow as often as she did her staff or dagger, but her shot was always true. Unlike most people who picked up a weapon, Megara had trained herself diligently to several weapons. She may have been blessed with magic, but without her staff, her magic had limits. And so she had taught herself to use dagger and bow. She wasn't particularly fond of swords or axes, they didn't offer stealth and speed.

This particular bow was a finely carved weapon she had acquired in a Dalish camp, after she’d first escaped the Circle. She had stumbled into Dalish territory, but bested one of their scouts before he could kill her. In return, she had been given the scout’s bow and allowed to return to the camp with him for a short time, originally just to rest and trade. Meeting the Clan’s Keeper and learning their culture was one of the most amazing times of her life. It had been too short and bittersweet, though. Although she gave herself over to the Clan and did as she was told, begging to learn, she was still just a shemlen. Nothing she could do would ever change that. After she’d been with the Clan a year, some scouts had been killed by roving human merchants. Megara had immediately hunted them, bringing their hearts back in vengeance. The Keeper only shook her head, saddened by her outburst of violence. When Megara claimed she was only claiming retribution for her family, her Clan, it had ended there. She was firmly reminded that she was not Dalish and allowed only enough time to gather her things and leave. It broke her heart. The last bit of hope and happiness drained from her as she tearfully bid farewell to the halla and the few friends she had. At least the Keeper had some sympathy for her. She had walked Megara to the camp’s outskirts, telling her one more Dalish tale as Megara cried silently. When Megara hugged her for the last time, the Keeper had said, “Hush, da’len, cry no more. You will always be a daughter to me, Dalish or no. Practice with your bow and go out into the world and make me proud. Above all, I want you to learn to be kind.” 

After her banishment, Megara wandered aimlessly, killing everything that moved with her bow. When she ran out of arrows and purpose, she had climbed into a tree and cried herself to sleep. Just a few weeks later, she wandered into a small trading town at the same time that Queen Anora stopped, on royal progress.

Megara contemplated over her tumultuous life as she quietly climbed the stairs, being careful to avoid servants and keep her hood down. She had “borrowed” a Chantry priest’s hooded robe and now used it to gain access to the tower where Connor was kept. Her steps were sure, she knew the way. She had traversed this castle a few times as well. Pushing those memories far away, she reached the threshold of the tower. Stepping into an alcove, Megara slipped from the robe and ran at the opposite wall. Kicking off of it, she vaulted up into the rafters with a soft whoosh. Allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness in the ceiling, she watched. As night fell, Bann Teagan and Isolde argued with a Senior Templar outside the room where Connor was kept. From the snippets she could hear in the rafters, she could discern that the ritual to send the mages into the Fade to attempt to save Connor would be done at first light. The Arlessa was irritated and sent everyone away, stomping and shooing at them in a fit. Once only she and Teagan were left, Isolde collapsed into Teagan’s arms sobbing. After she had spent herself, she looked up at him and inquired something Megara could not hear. Teagan seemed to protest, weakly. Finally, he looked about and then seemed to acquiesce to whatever Isolde was pleading for. Megara had only a moment to wait for the answer she already knew. The pair hurriedly turned the corridor and entered a room opposite Connor’s. 

Megara stood, stretching and walked across the large wooden rafters. She dropped out of the eaves and into the darkened room like a breeze. A fire burned low in the corner. Megara padded softly to the bed, tears already forming in her eyes. Drawing her blade, she moved a tuft of soft hair out of Connor’s heavily lidded eyes. Dripping tears onto his pale face, Megara softly kissed his cheek. “Poor innocent boy. Son of the selfish, your woes are now mine. I release you…” she whispered, drawing the blade swiftly.

A lock of hair fell onto the bed. Megara tucked it neatly into the pocket of her doublet and turned to leave. She stopped at the door and turned to look at the boy for a moment. She nearly lost her resolve as she gazed at his innocent features, illuminated by the firelight. Sighing heavily, she notched and drew her arrow, releasing it. It thudded softly and blood stained the covers below Connor’s face. His chest moved no more. Opening the door with a heavy heart, Megara lifted her knee and brought her golden bow with its Dalish carvings down onto it hard. The bow resisted but snapped clean, in two. Shaking now, she crossed the hallway and threw open the door to the small bedroom. Isolde screamed and began cursing and throwing pillows. Teagan quickly rolled off her and pulled his trousers on, frowning at Megara. He had dressed completely before Isolde had managed to pull the covers around her, all the while screaming and throwing things at Megara. Two guards burst into the room, arms at the ready. After Isolde swore at them, they sheathed their swords and tripped over each other trying to hastily leave. 

Megara leaned against the bedpost as Isolde continued to rant and dress herself. Frustrated, she couldn’t lace the stays of her dress and became near hysterical as Teagan deftly tied them. She attempted to slap Megara on her way out the door, but her hand was caught midair by Teagan. Megara hadn’t flinched or bothered to unfold her arms. Yanking herself away, Isolde stalked out of the room and slammed the door for effect. Megara set the broken bow on the bed and looked at Teagan with purpose. Tears welled in his eyes but he did not allow them to fall. They locked gazes until Isolde let loose a piercing scream. Teagan made a move to go to her but stopped short. He reached out and squeezed Megara’s arm. “I’m sorry about your son, Bann Teagan” she said softly.

“Me too.” He said simply and made to leave. He stopped halfway out the door, however and turned back to her. “Megara, I’ll take care of Isolde. Please don’t leave yet, we have much more work to attend to.” Megara nodded and Teagan rushed out the door. 

The heartsick mage reached into her pocket to touch Connor’s lock of hair. It was so soft, whereas her heart felt so hardened. As she knew the halls would be swarming with guards by now, Megara wiggled out a window and onto the rooftop. The wind felt good through her clothes and the light rain washed away her tears.

_****There are many different ways to treat Connor. This way, Megara’s hand is forced. She has had to kill an old friend and a child in the same day. She is fragile now, will she break? Thank you for any and all suggestions and reviews!_


	6. Fool's Gold

**30:Dragon, 29th of Wintermarch**

****

The castle was on lockdown. Isolde had ordered everyone with a bow questioned, although she knew the truth of it. Megara wasn't sure how Teagan had convinced her to keep quiet. Perhaps she was afraid her affair would be discovered after all of these years and per position jeopardized. Isolde was far too comfortable in her life to give it up, even for the revenge of her son's death. For two agonizing and tedious days, the Templars questioned everything that moved. They seemed to be angrier than even Isolde, that they'd traveled this far for nothing, now.

Jowan's body had been discovered shortly before Connor's by some of the drunken guards. It was reasoned that the mage had somehow released his self and slew the boy and then turned a blade on himself in a fit of regret. The fact that his cell door was unlocked seemed to support this. The lack of a dagger or knife which he used to slit his throat gave the Templars ammo to continue searching and harassing, but eventually they conceded it could have easily been stolen or one of the intoxicated guardsmen could have misplaced it.

**30:Dragon, 2nd of Guardian**

On the third morning they departed. Megara knew, had she let Jowan go with them, he would have been spared because he was acting on Loghain's orders. They would have ordered him made Tranquil, which he would never have accepted as just punishment. He was a self-centered coward who would have fled again and terrorized someone else, the first chance he felt threatened. She had other things to worry about now and couldn't linger on Jowan's death.

Teagan was trying to establish order to Redcliffe and Isolde wouldn't leave her bed. Megara would just as soon put an arrow in her as well, but she owed Teagan more than that. She had taken his son out of necessity; she would not take his lover out of spite.

Wardens Tara and Alistair had seemed to finally come out of their daze and realize that there were bigger issues at hand. Tara was determined to rebuild the Wardens, but Alistair didn't know the words to the ritual and all they had was the Joining Chalice. They decided swiftly to head to Denerim and seek out Brother Genitivi, hopefully to recover any information about the Sacred Urn of Ashes. Megara was very apprehensive about going to Denerim again, especially since Loghain was aware of their presence and machinations. Without revealing too much, though, she could think of no good reason to linger behind.

This time, they stopped only at night, making haste towards the capital. Alistair seemed to realize the dangers they faced and decided to make camp a short ways from Denerim. They were searching for a good place under cover when they happened upon a small group of bandits tending to their own camp. Without waiting for any cues, Megara sprang with her staff, initiating the fight. It did not take long to overwhelm them and Megara triumphantly helped pile the bodies to burn. Alistair was furious with her as usual, while Morrigan quipped that at least they needn't make their own fires now. After a quick, cold meal, they removed the animals' saddles and bags, putting them on long leads. Sten stayed behind to watch and guard them.

**30:Dragon, 11th of Guardian**

Megara was headachy and tired when they arrived in Denerim. They split up immediately so as to attract less attention. Morrigan took her leave, seeking out some unknown contact. Leliana headed for the Chantry and Zevran for the tavern. Tara and Alistair went straight away to Brother Genitivi's home, to find out the information that they needed.

Glancing at the castle and frowning, Megara headed for a side alley. She sought out the Mage's Collective agent, to turn in some herbs that had been requested. They were hard to find and Megara had scratched her arms to bits trying to get through the bramble to reach the dark red herbs. However, the hefty coin purse she was given in return made her forget all of her troubles. She tucked it inside her satchel on her belt and read the scroll list of new requests. Something about searching for old scrolls, more herb requests and an odd one about a lost ring. She chose a few, tucking the missives into an inner pocket and striding towards the upper markets. She still hadn't been able to replace her clothing after nearly drowning outside of Ostagar and she intended to do just that with her reward money.

Stopping at an Orlesian silk merchant's stall, she browsed his wares, fingering the fine silks. Such vivid and beautiful colors; blues like Rialto Bay, the triumphant gold of royalty and coin and then a brilliant white, like the Andraste's Grace flower. Megara smiled as she perused, remembering a time when she had silks brought to her. She settled on one of the darker golds and purchased enough for a new shirt and then some. She was leaving with her purchase when turning, she came face to face with Queen Anora.

Shock overcame her entire body, like a cold water being poured into her veins, preventing any movement or thoughts. She dropped the silk, so surprised she was to see her. Anora's eyes burned with hate into Megara's. She snapped her fingers and one of her guards picked up the silk. Brushing off the dust, Anora took a step forward and whispered into Megara's ear, "I see you still have a fondness for things above your station. Things which should never be touched by the vile hands of a peasant whore. I'll have this washed and made into a bed for one of the royal bitches to whelp on. They deserve better than you, who are lower than dirt." The Queen and her guard turned heel and left, leaving Megara in a cloud of dust, confusion and memories. She was transfixed…and greatly unsettled.

That afternoon she reached the Gnawed Noble Tavern where everyone was taking drink and food. Morrigan and Tara filled her in on their grisly findings at Brother Genitivi's house. There was a wealth of information left there still, so everyone agreed to stay in Denerim for the one night and depart at dawn. Leliana was dispatched to the camp to alert Sten and Morrigan slunk off to the Pearl for some gratuitous entertainment. Tara and Alistair were gathering supplies and food to take to Alistair's sister, whom he'd not even met. Megara knew of the washerwoman and Goldanna was a troublesome bitch. She was nasty and cared for no one. The two soft-hearted Wardens were in for a rude surprise. Megara searched for Zevran and when her search yielded no handsome rogue, she decided to purchase a room and a very hot bathe.

Shedding her clothes, she mused on making Goldanna wash them just to see Alistair's face. She removed a small folded packet from her backpack and tore open the envelope. An intoxicating aroma of spices greeted her nose. The scent was heady, reminding her of bathes past. She poured them into the steaming water and dismissed the servant who had carried in the buckets of water. Stirring it idly with one hand, she stood and dipped a foot into the long, wooden tub, when a knock sounded at the door. Scowling, she dripped water over the floors as she stomped to the door and flung it open. Zevran waltzed in grinning, smacking her bare arse and throwing his things on the bed. As he began to undress Megara returned to the bath to get the best spot before the former assassin could best her.

"You put Orlesian spices into a steaming bathe, my dear, that is a delectable soup I can smell a mile away. Come, let's bath and then maybe you will let me devour you finally."

Megara glared at him and started a nasty retort when a loud banging reverberated from the door. Zevran drew his sword and stepped to the door. Megara sighed and closed her eyes. Two royal guards kicked open the door, carrying a chest between them. Setting it down in front of the tub, one burly, copper haired guard lifted the lid. They both crossed their arms and watched Megara closely. The burly one grinned maliciously as she glided over to the edge of the bathe and leaned over to see. Frowning and sweating from both the water temperature and apprehension, she peered at the contents. The guard who had opened the chest, cut a deep, mocking curtsy and said, his voice dripping with venom, "With regards from her most gracious and giving Queen." Then they both turned and walked out of the room, laughing deeply.

_****The intrigue! What's in the chest, do you think? Why does Anora hate Megara? Stay tuned_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided I would start explaining the chapter titles a bit for those of you have professed confusion at them. Fool's Gold is an expression used to describe a type of metal commonly mistaken for actual gold. It is worthless in actuality. This term applies to much in Megara's story. The silk she purchased was gold. She was a fool to think that she could escape her past forever, let alone traipse into Denerim unnoticed. She is also a "golden" girl, her skin and hair, etc. But she is a fool in many ways, many which will be revealed in the coming chapters. Thank you for reading, lovelies!


	7. Some Stains Cannot be Cleansed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING:THIS CHAPTER RATED M FOR SEXUAL CONTENT****
> 
> Author's Note: I really didn't like the last chapter. I don't know why, it's my own writing. The events that transpired are required. Perhaps it was that I was antsy and agitated when writing that. It shows, I think, in that it seemed rushed. My apologies. Maybe once I am further into the story I will go back and flush it out with some detail and clean that mess up. So I must apologize, dear readers, that was not my best. Pretty please with lyrium dust on top leave a review, even a couple of lines. Gratitude.

"O, wake once more! how rude soe'er the hand  
That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray;  
O, wake once more! though scarce my skill command  
Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay:  
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away,  
And all unworthy of thy nobler strain,  
Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway,  
The wizard note has not been touched in vain.  
Then silent be no more! Enchantress, wake again!"

-Lady of the Lake, Sir Walter Scott

**30:Dragon 11th of Guardian**

Zevran quickly shut the heavy wooden door, sliding the bolt for good measure. He was frowning. Megara stared at the chest's contents in angst as the rogue prattled on and finished undressing. Normally she would not be able to take her eyes from his hard, lean body. The dark, luscious skin, perfectly smooth and free of blemish but for a few scars. He was well endowed as well, as even though he wasn't aroused, he was quite sizeable. Megara absentmindedly looked up at him before turning back to the chest.

With water dripping from her fingertips, she sifted through the contents. Silks. Every color, shade and print. Brilliant and exquisite fabrics. Megara's heart began to race with anger and fear as she delved into the depths of the chest. Near the bottom, she felt something lumpy and wet. Fear sticking in her throat, she moved the fabrics and paid no mind as Zevran eased himself into the bath behind her. Turning over a piece of gold silk, the same shimmery hue of the one she had purchased today, was the still warm heart of some sort of beast. Megara flipped over the silk and closed her eyes momentarily. She was so very weary all of a sudden, as she rose from the steaming bath. Gingerly, she lifted tired and heavy legs over the side to pad softly over to the bed. Almost mechanically, she picked up a single candle in a base from the table. She could hear Zevran scolding her from the bath for getting the silks wet as she moved to the chest. Time seemed frozen and everything else was blurry. The chest seemed almost illuminated, the only thing she could see. Every detail, every carving and piece of metal shouted at her senses. A piece of soft emerald silk spilled over the side of the chest. It was green like the grass of the rolling hills outside Redcliffe. If she closed her eyes she could smell the grass, feel it prickle her skin as she looked up at a cloudy sky, her hand warm from being held. As her memory captured her, standing naked and wet over the silks, she strained to see him. She had rolled over in the grass, but now, she couldn't picture his face. It was dark.

Blinking, she turned and dropped the candle into the chest and swept back into the tub. Zevran was leaning against the further end, his eyes closed and enjoying the heat. Megara say for a moment, still numb. As the chest burst into flames she closed her eyes and submerged herself. Zevran sprang from the tub, Megara could feel the water rolling about her as the elf cursed her roundly for a fool and made to put the fire out.

Slamming the lid shut once he was certain the fire had been extinguished, he flung a few more choice Antivan insults at the underwater mage before splashing back in. Megara finally emerged, water cascading off her shoulders. "Do you mind telling me what possessed you to nearly burn down the tavern and us in it over a handful of silks!?" he asked, grabbing the soap he had brought to the tub and scrubbing his arms angrily. An old scar on his chest caught Megara's attention and she became fixated on it. Instead of answering him she slid across the tub and nestled under his arm, against his chest and began absentmindedly tracing his scar, leaning her head into his shoulder. She still did not say a word.

Shaking his head, Zevran sighed and took the soap again, washing them both as Megara methodically traced his old wound. Eventually, the water grew cold and still. Zevran detached from Megara, who had still not spoken, and stood shivering. He pulled her gently from the tub and dried them both off. Gently, he scooped her up and she easily folded her arms around his neck. She fit perfectly against him. Walking across the room, he settled her into the bed, pulling the covers about her before climbing into the other side. Blowing out the candle on his side, he mumbled something in another language and seemed to struggle to get comfortable. Megara rolled over and wrapped herself around him. Minutes later, he turned, burying his face into her neck and frantically kissing and biting her. When he reached a hand down to slide up between her thighs, she squeezed her legs shut. Zevran growled impatiently and flung himself onto his back. Megara lifted herself up onto her elbow and after holding his angry gaze for a long moment, kissed his cheek softly. She felt overwhelmingly guilty for denying him, for everyone and everything she had ever denied. A single tear escaped her, dripping down onto Zevran's bare chest. She began tracing his scar again with her softened and wrinkly fingers.

After some time had passed, Zevran grasped her hand and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "My beauty, some wounds do not heal on their own. Some wounds need another's help to close and to heal." With that he released her hand and turned over once more to sleep. Megara shivered under the covers. She buried her face into the much used pillow and sobbed herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I know this chapter is much shorter, but I really wanted to highlight this scene, as it is extremely emotional. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it and that it makes up for the less-than-stellar one previous to this.I have about four more to post which are typed up, and six or seven more written out. I will probably not post them all at once like this again, though. Thank you kindly for reading and reviewing.


	8. Quail Eggs and Nug-capades

**30:Dragon, 12th of Guardian**

They awoke and dressed without speaking. Megara couldn't look at Zevran and he seemed to be of like mind. She left the charred chest in the room and tipped the cleaning wench a silver to dispose of the contents. Shortly after dawn they met the Wardens and Morrigan at the gates of Denerim. It was an uneventful walk back to the camp where Sten and Leliana were waiting.

Leliana's screams, coupled with Grey's frantic howling could be heard well before they reached the camp. All five broke into a run, pounding the frozen dirt road to reach the camp. Weapons drawn, no one could have anticipated the scene which awaited them. Standing atop a rotted log, throwing random sticks and pinecones, was a terrified Leliana. An equally frantic Grey, Tara's mabari hound, was huddled onto the log, whining and howling at something on the ground.

Morrigan and Megara walked up to the log to see what all the commotion was about. Both mages dissolved into fits of laughter upon discovering a small, common nug trying to claw its way up the log. Megara's side hurt from laughing so hard. Sten chose that moment to appear, a string of fish slung over his broad shoulders. Even he managed a slight smile.

"You have chased down and torn the throats of Darkspawn but you are terrified of an overgrown rat, you mangy beast!?" Morrigan quipped, shaking her head and walking to her tent.

Tara went to help Sten and Alistair to tend the animals. Megara and Zevran locked eyes, grinning maliciously at one another. Zevran picked up the squeaking nug and made to leave with it while Megara helped the shrieking priestess down. After everyone had stopped giggling and settled, they crowded around the main campfire for a large breakfast of wild quail eggs, fried fish and milk, the latter of which Tara had purchased that morning in Denerim. Everyone ate in good natured comradery, cracking an occasional joke or trying to steal food from one another's plates. Tara mentioned to Alistair that she'd found a book on the Joining at Brother Genitivi's. Megara even found herself joining that discussion in earnest, even after Tara had finished her food and left to tear down her unused tent. She & Alistair were animatedly discussing the possibilities of rebuilding the Grey Wardens when a piercing wail broke the quiet.

Megara had nearly forgotten, so engrossed was she in her talk with a man who seemed to loathe her. Kicking back her feet, she shuffled over to allow Zevran a prime seat to watch the chaos unfold as he approached and Alistair scrambled to find the source of distress.

"What did you two do now?" Morrigan asked, leading her already packed horse up behind the two conspirators.

Suddenly, an animated tent with a flailing and screaming Leliana trapped inside stumbled into the clearing. Close behind her, the little nug was hopping about. Tara was trying to catch the nug and Alistair the tent. Grey ripped past them all, howling and knocking all three over. Tara and Alistair tangled in the tent in the confusion. Zevran let loose a throaty chuckle and Megara could not contain her mirth, falling backwards off the log, laughing. The tangled trio took ages to sort themselves out.

"Where did you find a nug in Denerim, anyways?" she mused to Zevran as he helped her up. Sten and Morrigan headed off, impatient to be gone. Stretching, he looked at her with a sad sort of grin. "I'll tell you if you tell me where the large bruise on your thigh came from."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, yes, I know that Leliana is in actuality, enamored of nugs. This will build up to that but I wanted to break the darkness of the past chapters and have some fun. Hope you enjoyed!


	9. Wandering Feet Have Gone Too Far

_"Roads go ever ever on,_

_Over rock and under tree,_

_By caves where never sun has shone,_

_By streams that never find the sea;_

_Over snow by winter sown,_

_And through the merry flowers of June,_

_Over grass and over stone,_

_And under mountains in the moon._

_Roads go ever ever on_

_Under cloud and under star,_

_Yet feet that wandering have gone_

_Turn at last to home afar._

_Eyes that fire and sword have seen_

_And horror in the halls of stone_

_Look at last on meadows green_

_And trees and hills they long have known."_

The Road Goes Ever On, Tolkein

**30:Dragon, 12th of Guardian**

Only a few miles down the western route, Alistair shouted. _It must be Darkspawn._ Megara pulled her foot from the stirrup and quickly vaulted from her horse to the frozen ground. The horses whinnied nervously, they could smell the creatures. Leliana began to talk soothingly to them as she quickly tied their leads off, to keep them out of harm's way. The group then sprinted after Alistair.

Megara's leather boots crunched and thudded the stiff snow in the early morning chill. They were warm enough, but also made lightly to prevent her feet from tiring of unneeded weight. She could feel the vibrations of the ground, smell the icy cold in the air. Every fiber of her being was alert. She truly wished she could sense the Darkspawn as the Wardens could, alert as she was though, so that her sense were complete. Reaching behind her back, she pulled her staff from its sling. It was a gnarled, black, twisted thing. It was half her height, slim but still weighty. At the top of the staff was a cold red orb, which always seemed to throb and glow faintly. At the other end was sharp blade, curved into a scythe. It served as a dual weapon. It's given name was The Maferath's Betrayal. It was said to be forged during the time of Andraste's mortal husband, the staff's namesake. Legend gives that when Maferath's sons killed him, an eerie and magical aura took hold of a wooded glen by Andraste and Maferath's home, infusing the trees with magic. Although the place is said to be cursed and haunted, the staff was made from a felled tree. It suited Megara perfectly, she thought, as she had faced betrayal more than once in her lifetime.

Her staff was heavy but Megara held it high, grasping the middle of the staff and falling into a formation of sorts. Alistair had stopped, slightly bent and holding his long sword with both hands, ready for the charge. To his immediate left was Sten, poised with mace and cold, calculating eyes. Behind him a few feet was Zevran, crouched low to the ground, watching, his daggers at the ready, gleaming in the morning sunlight. Megara and Morrigan were both behind him, staffs up and focusing their magic and mana, preparing to cast the first spell. Leliana was slightly behind them, in the middle, warming up her voice for some sort of chant, her bow taut and a poisoned arrow already notched, waiting to find the black heart of the first Darkspawn she saw. Although they'd known each other but a few weeks, they were a team that worked seamlessly with each other.

Tension floated on the air as they waited for the first creature to appear. Suddenly, a soft twang filled the air and Leliana dodged an arrow. Chaos quickly ensued. A band of nearly twenty Darkspawn crashed from the trees, and they went to work. Megara released a fireball, aiming it for the largest of them, an ogre. Twisting up and turning, she continued to stream spells to stun, confuse and otherwise debilitate the monster. This gave Alistair and Sten the opportunity to attack the beast, slicing and hacking at its putrid flesh. Zevran worked the others back away from the ogre with amazing speed, never giving any of the beasts a chance to properly hit him. Morrigan focused on large, massive spells that dealt damage to all of their foes, as well as healing in between. Leliana's arrows rained down, striking one Hurlock between the eyes and felling it there.

It was exhausting work. At one point an arrow found Zevran's calf and he stumbled back, opening Alistair's flank and forcing him to turn from the ogre and deal with the onslaught. Megara's mana was draining but she let loose a fury of fire spells, forcing the beasts away from Zevran. Once he had regained himself, he moved out of the way just in time for the ogre to charge. It was weak, however, stumbling over several of its own comrades, crushing them and finally tripping to come down on one knee. Sten took the opportunity, racing ahead of the others. His mace swung out, taking a Darkspawn archer at the knees and Zevran's blades sunk into the archer's back; its death wail filled the air. Sten sprang off the body of a felled Darkspawn to land on to the ogre's head; mace rose above his head and then brought down; both arms' veins bulging and a look of concentration on his face. The spiked mace found its target, sinking deep into the side of the ogre's face. The pale flesh exploded, the eyeball collapsing in on itself. The ogre fell heavily and the cold ground reverberated with the giant's death throes. Again, Sten smashed the heavy weapon into the monster's head, until he was soaked in the putrid blood and the ogre's brain matter littered the ground.

Soon after the ogre had fallen, the group was able to dispatch the rest of their foes. The weary, bloodied group walked through the corpses, making sure every creature was dead before dragging the bodies to where the ogre had fallen to burn them. They donned heavy gloves to pull and heave the corpses, sometimes having to double up to move one. This was no battlefield but a major roadway and if any of the wildlife feasted on the corpses, the Blight could taint them as well. Megara's back ached as she dragged the already-charred body of a Darkspawn archer to the pile. Her shoulders were tense too, from holding her heavy staff. She shrugged them, trying to loosen the pain. Once they had lit the body pile on file and ensured it was going, Leliana puked. Morrigan laughed in disdain at the girl's weakness as they all mounted the horses and pressed on.

**30:Dragon, 13th of Guardian**

When they made camp that night, Sten took first watch and the rest of the wearied travelers slept soundly. Megara awoke to the smell of food frying and the sound of unfamiliar voices. Stretching, she winced at the instantaneous pain in her shoulders. It radiated through her back and even down her arms. Grumbling, she eased into her clothing and began to pack up her things. Sitting on a log outside her tent, she laced her boots and again tried to stretch her back. This time she stretched too far and a hot, searing pain engulfed her. She audibly cursed in pain. Morrigan approached, curious to know what had made her swear. Laughing at Megara's discomfort, the raven-haired witch left to retrieve her pack. Glaring and muttering, Megara dismantled her tent carefully.

"What troubles you, Megara?" Leliana's musical voice interrupted her grousing. Gritting her teeth, Megara managed the most pleasant response she could at right after dawn. Leliana seemed quite concerned.

"I have some lym bark salve in my bag. I learned to make it at the Chantry in Lothering. It does wonders for aches and blisters. I can give you some to alleviate your pain."

"Why would you help me after I helped Zevran antagonize you with the nug?" she shot back, gathering the wooden poles which held her tent and tying them together.

"I know you meant no harm, Megara. I should not be fearful of such a creature. Such weakness is frowned on by the Maker, yet helping one another is not."

"Well for what it's worth I'm sorry we scared you. I would certainly appreciate any help you can offer."

Grudgingly, Megara agreed as being this stoved up would make traveling or any future battles a nightmare. Leliana swiftly retrieved a small copper jar of dark green, sticky salve. The smell was hideous to say the least. Leliana laughed at Megara's reaction to the smell and her face.

"The stronger the smell, the more potent the balm. Would you like me to apply it for you?" she said, still giggling.

Megara would have liked to have said no, but Zevran was eating and Leliana had already seen her naked as well. So she pulled up her shirt and allowed the flame-haired bard to apply a liberal amount of the bark salve. The warmth from the herbs immediately began to take affect and she felt better within moments.

"You have my utmost thanks, again," she said, pulling her shirt down gingerly, tucking it in.

"It is repayment enough to help. Especially if the one I am helping is a mage with a beautiful body."

Taken aback, Megara stammered an awkward thank you and quickly returned to packing. Once everything was stowed and loaded on her horse, she joined the others for breakfast. The new voices she'd heard and forgotten about turned out to belong to a stout dwarven merchant and his son. Megara immediately liked Bodahn and Sandal. Her mood improved vastly over a large breakfast of pheasant eggs and fried rabbit meat, which Bodahn had shared. He regaled them all with stories of Orzammar while everyone chattered and are. Megara noticed with amusement how grumpy Alistair was. Grinning mischievously to herself, she started a kicking game with Zevran. When they became too rambunctious for Alistair's dark mood, he shouted at them to stop. They both feigned innocent surprise which only served to incense him enough to drop his plate and stalk off. Leliana and Morrigan both cackled with glee at his fit and Grey reaped the biggest reward of all, Alistair's breakfast scraps.

"Gee, Alistair, someone put a greased nug down your pants or something?" Megara called after him, teasing. While the group roared with laughter and Alistair turned red with anger and embarrassment, she thoroughly enjoyed besting the whiny Warden.

Once they were well on their way, Megara rode pace with Bodahn's cart, listening to more of his tales. She was very intrigued about the Deep Roads and Orzammar itself. At midday when they stopped to rest the animals and water them at a pond near the road, Zevran appeared to help Megara dismount.

"Careful, my beauty. The others will soon think you capable of happiness," he jested, wrapping his hands firmly about her waist and sweeping her to the ground. He let his hands linger for a moment, pressing his thumbs into her hips. The smell and feel of him stole her breath. Quickly, she leaned up and kissed him on his cheek.

"And you will trick everyone into thinking you are a gentleman, what with helping ladies from their saddles and the like."

"Who said anything about ladies?" Zevran crinkled his bright eyes, smiling down at her. Megara winked and waltzed off, swaying her hips with a bit of gusto.

As they ate a simple meal of bread and dried meat, Sten disappeared out of sight at a jog. A few minutes later he returned and spoke to Tara. The Warden seemed pleased by the news. Moments later, a traveling merchant's caravan pulled up on the dirt road, opposite the pond. Two oxen pulled the cart and a very old man with long white hair and whiskers twisted into braids sat on the bench with the reins. Bright blue eyes sparkled in the wrinkly face and he wore a big Orlesian hat atop his head that tinkled softly with many decorative bells. The merchant greeted everyone, saying he was too old to remember his name proper. He did open his cart for trade and Bodahn bounded off to him, eager to swap wares with the fellow trader. When nearly everyone else had made their purchases and begun to ready for departure, Megara finally managed to approach. She sifted through the herbs and potions first, plucking her own jar of lym bark salve from among the wares.

Turning to the merchant to hand him a few coins and ask about boot polish, he had exclaimed, "Say, now there's a pretty face that looks familiar to this old man. Where might I know ye from?"

Megara's heart raced as she tried quickly to place him in her memory. She let out a nervous laugh and walked to the other side of the cart. He followed her as she sorted through his food wares, mostly dried, tough meats.

"Come now, a beauty such as yours is unforgettable. Let's see…"

"Oh, you cannot remember your name, old one, surely you cannot remember where you might have seen little me," she chided lightheartedly. She hurriedly finished making her selections and handed him coin for the wares but in her rush overpaid.

"Oho! I think I know now, see! Something about the castle in Denerim. Yes! Memory places you there. Friend to the Queen Anora? Or was it a lady in waiting. Far too pretty for a common maid."

"No, no, you're mistaken I'm sure," she said and swept off to her horse. Her palms were sweaty as she stuffed her things into the saddlebags and mounted the grey mare. She jolted when after settling she noticed the old merchant waving by her feet.

"Your change, my dear. Who knows when we'll meet again. Or maybe at the Castle? I go there…"

Megara reached down to grasp the coin and the merchant's hand enveloping it. She squeezed a little too hard. "A tip, my friend, for such friendly service." Leaning down, she squeezed again and leaned to whisper in his ear.

"And to forget ever seeing me before today."

Smiling brightly, she released the frightened and confused man and straightened back in her saddle. Clicking to her horse, she jerked the reins to the western path. In her direct path was Alistair, staring up at her. They locked eyes as the merchant shuffled around them, back to his cart. After a long moment Megara frowned and kicked her horse into a full gallop, leaving a cloud of dust swirling about the angry Warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. Megara has gotten herself into a mess, hasn't she? She knows the truth about her past is catching up to her, will she manage to outrun it? Will it crumble her team, or worse yet, the kingdom?


	10. Beginning to Soar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank everyone for hanging in there. Ten chapters! Woo! I know I have built a great deal of mystery and suspense and given you little to go on. You shall be rewarded soon, fair readers. Chapter the next contains a dialogue you won't want to miss, which will reveal much about Megara's past. But first, who will she be speaking to? Read on...

“Roads go ever ever on  
Under cloud and under star..."  
The Road Goes Ever On, Tolkein

 

**30:Dragon, 16th of Guardian**

Megara was running out of time. The others were becoming suspicious and Alistair was starting to piece things together. Everything she had done to protect her past and those in it was crumbling and unraveling around her. All because she had to play the damned hero. Because she had to care. There was still so much at stake, too much so to allow it to be lost. So she did the only thing she could think of; she decided to run.

_If I leave, Alistair won't be able to put it all together. He doesn't have the balls to confront me or the wits to pull all the pieces of our stories together. Leliana doesn't know everything or she'd have opened her Chantry trap already. And who says I don't care! By leaving, I'm protecting more than my own hide to be sure. I am protecting this kingdom._

Her plan was made and yet she still couldn't decide when to leave. They were halfway to Haven before she'd drummed up the courage to flee. Several times, she'd resisted the urge to sneak into Zevran's tent for just one night of passion, to feel the heat of him. and the touch of his skin. In the end, she denied herself this, too. Her weakness had caused her nothing but pain in the past. Finally, when they were but a few days from Haven, she prepared to leave. Winter was waning and the frost that night after everyone had went to bed was insignificant compared to nights past. 

Alistair had been nothing short of hostile towards her since the incident with the merchant. He hadn't approached her at all, however, cementing Megara's belief that he was far too much of a coward to bring things out into the open and also that he knew little. He simply resorted to glaring and muttering under his breath. The previous night, he had been so volatile at dinner that Tara had immediately cowed him. "Maker's breath, Alistair! Need you be so nasty to Megara? What has she ever done to deserve such treatment!?"

"I...I don't know. I don't..." Alistair mumbled and hung his head.

Tara had been icy towards Alistair after their fight, to Megara's amusement. Alistair could be so childish. But he respected and adored Tara, that much was obvious. So the night Megara was ready to leave, Alistair grudgingly made a show of being decent towards her. She had been playing fetch with Grey, but afterwards couldn't help but notice that Tara pulled Alistair aside in camp to speak with him, finishing the conversation with a kiss on his cheek. Megara chuckled, wrestling the bone from Grey and tossing it in the air. "He gets rewarded just like you and is about as obedient and housebroken, too!"

She was preparing to leave, finally. She had been distant to everyone for a few days, even Morrigan. She didn't have many possessions and knew she could take even less when she fled that night, as she walked away from the mabari and to bend down and into her tent. Pulling her tent flaps closed tightly, she dug one of the last bits of parchment out. Finding a quill was even tougher. She sat cross legged on her bedroll, shivering from the cold and her emotions. Exasperated, she drew Dragon's Tooth lightly across her arm when she couldn't find anything to pass as ink. Pricking her arm, she dipped her quill in it and carefully utilized the blood to write two short letters. When she'd finished, she signed her name extravagantly. She tore a strip of the soiled blue shirt she'd worn in Ostagar and wound it about her arm. Folding the first note, she had no wax for a seal and so moved the strip and used her blood again. Morrigan's letter she tied to a small hand mirror she'd purchased from Bodahn, who'd gotten it from another merchant in Orzammar. Looking at the little golden thing, she tried to wipe some of the dust from the mirror's side before placing it in plain sight on her bedroll pillow. Zevran's note she folded several times, trying for a heart shape but after not succeeding, she folded it in half in exasperation. It was written in one of many Antivan Crow codes. She'd learned it long ago, actually as a child in the Circle. She had no doubt Zevran would be able to decipher it easily. She finally rolled it, tucking it inside her last pouch of bath herbs and tying another string of the blue cloth around it. Sitting it beside the other note, she brought her knees up to rest her chin on them. 

She didn't want to leave. She wanted to help, to save the world as she knew it. She was conflicted and angry and sad for herself. Her past transgressions prevented her from ever being fully honest with this small circle of comrades she had surrounded herself with. And then there were lives at stake. Lives forged in the past, ghosts of memories only. They must be. They must stay as ghosts and never materialize, for they'll haunt Ferelden forevermore if they do. She felt like the ghosts' chains were all wrapped about her body then, weighing her down. She wanted to just lie down and cry herself to sleep, but she knew it was time.

She would take only her staff and a small backpack. In it, she placed the few possessions she valued- Cailan's ring, a halla carving from ironbark, a small prayer book of poems, a purple cotton cloth stained darkly, a few keys, her empty phylactery and a locket. She ran her fingers over the locket, a simple brass one with a star carved on its front. A few wisps of blonde hair stuck out of the side. She tied the pack as tightly as she could and then wound its straps to her staff. Then...she waited. A full moon hung heavy in the ebony sky as she slipped out of her tent. Hiding behind it, she crouched, setting the pack and staff in front of her. Emptying her mind and relaxing her body she said the incantation over and over. Finally, her body began to warm and tremble. The spell became a frantic whisper, its words gaining power and wrapping her body in a cloak of magic. Weeks of watching Morrigan use the spell had paid off. With a powerful whoosh, a gust of wind blew back against the tent. Megara had shapeshifted. Her human body replaced by that of a sleek, sharp-eyed eagle. Her feathers were brown, the large talons a cream color. Unsure as to how long she had, Megara walked on unsteady eagle talons to her staff and tied bundle. The eagle instinct came naturally to her as she clutched the parcel and spread her magnificent wings. Hesitating only a moment, she sprang into the cold air, beating down hard on the wings and keeping her precious bundle clutched tight. Keeling to the side only once, she forced herself up and up until she seemed to mingle with the stars themselves. Her body trembled with the amount of energy it took to fly and keep the spell up. As she soared away she disallowed herself to look back, lest she had seen Morrigan watching from the campfire, smiling eerily.

Her heavy wings beat on the chilly air, pounding, taking her higher. Knowing she wouldn't last much longer in her first shape-shift, Megara concentrated on gliding now and getting as far from the camp as possible. She was looking for a place to land when her hold on the spell began to wane. She lowered her borrowed wings and started to descend. Suddenly, everything became unnaturally quiet. She couldn't hear the wind or her own breathing. She felt a blast of air hit her from behind and the screech of another, much larger bird. Just as Megara went to dive into a clearing, gigantic talons clenched her wings. Fear made her lose the spell entirely. She couldn't see what kind of bird had her. As if her body hit the ground, the force of losing the spell hit her. Blood dripped from her nose and eyes and she barely managed to keep hold of her staff. The bird's talons clenched her shoulders. She fought with what little strength she could muster but the bird blenched its talons, soaring through the night air. She lost consciousness as they neared the ground.

What seemed like hours later, she opened her hazy eyes. Staring back at her, towering over her rather, was Flemeth.

_Morrigan,_  
You knew a time would come when I would have to leave. I am sorry I was unable to give you all of my secrets. You above all others I trust in this world. I hope to meet you again, friend. Your instructions have been critical to me and I can never thank you enough. Please, take this mirror. I purchased it, remembering the story you told me of one just like it. When you gaze into the reflection, know there is no other like you and that you are a treasured friend.  
Megara 

 

**Zev.**

**You are no doubt by now quite angry with me. Perhaps not. Perhaps I mean nothing to you. Either way, I am so sorry. I have been running my whole life and it seems I am not done yet. You were right when you said some wounds won't heal on their own. Mine will not heal at all, it seems. They fester, spreading disease to my entire body, my entire life. I don't know if I will ever be free from this curse I have placed upon myself. I have no words to properly express my admiration of you. If I had stayed, if we'd had a bit more time. I don't know. I felt something stirring deep within me that I'd not felt in a long time. It matters not, now, I know. But please, don't think for a moment I do not care. You are my Antivan peach, as fragrant and desirable as a long summer with no troubles to bother me. I place a kiss upon this piece of silk, my favor to you.  
Megara**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I promised longer chapter. While I was editing this one I just cannot for the life of me find anything to put in here. I am so sorry lovelies. I promise to make sure the others have more ample material for you to read. <3


	11. At Haven's Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well here we are! The big (partial) reveal. Please drop me a line when you're done and let me know what you think. Did you forsee this coming? Did it completely blow your mind? Do tell!

**30:Dragon, 16th of Guardian**

Her heavy wings beat on the chilly air, pounding, taking her higher. Knowing she wouldn't last long in her first shape shift, Megara concentrated on gliding and getting as far from the camp as possible. She was looking for a place to land when her hold on the spell began to wear off. She lowered her borrowed wings and started to descend. Suddenly, everything became eerily quiet. She felt a blast of air hit her and heard the screech of a much larger, likely more dangerous bird. Just as Megara went to dive into a clearing, gigantic talons clenched her wings. Fear made her lose the spell entirely. She couldn't see what kind of bird had her. As if her body had hit the ground, the force of losing the spell hit her instead. The bird's talons clenched her shoulders now. Blood dripped from her nose and eyes. Megara fought with what little strength she had but the bird clenched its talons tighter, soaring through the night air.

Her first instinct was to throw something at the batty old bitch towering over her but there was nothing at hand. 

"Clean yourself up, child and then come sit by the fire," Flemeth instructed her, tossing a worn handkerchief at her on the ground and strolling away. Blinking heavily, Megara say up. Her vision focused and she noticed there was a campfire a short ways away, in front of an old woods cabin. Slapping the ground in irritation, she picked up the handkerchief and cleaned off her face.When she reached the campfire Flemeth was standing over a pot of bubbling stew. Plopping down on a log, she sulkily stared up at the witch.

"My, my, girl, for all your looks, it's as if I still had my Morrigan about instead of you."

Megara only glared at her. Slurping a bit of the stew off a wooden spoon, Flemeth made an awful face.

"Bah. Morrigan made better stew. Has she taught you any cooking skills to go with your shape shifting ones?" she inquired, frowning at the stew again.When Megara crossed her arms and huffed, refusing to speak still, Flemeth chuckled. Striding over, she smacked Megara's cheek with the still hot spoon, dropping it into her lap.

"Get up, girl, quit brooding. Fix that stew and bring me a bowl. We'll talk then."

Biting back another retort, Megara stood and shuffled over to the simmering pot. One sniff told her that the stew was tasteless but salvageable. A short time later, she handed a smug Flemeth a bowl of the doctored soup and say cross legged on the ground in front of the old woman, against a log. They ate in silence, Flemeth observing the young mage all the while. When Megara had her hill, she say the bowl beside her and drew her legs up to her knees. Sitting her chin on them, she watched the fire, waiting.

"You have been running your whole life, child. Isn't it time to stop? You can't outrun a Blight and the others are going to need your help to stop it," Flemeth remarked calmly.

Megara lifted her doleful eyes to Flemeth. "And if I do stop running? What then? Ferelden can't fight off a Blight if its sunk deep into the midst of a civil way, which it will be, if I tell my comrades everything."

"Do you not think there will be civil unrest now after Ostagar, with Loghain trying to take the throne from his daughter, who is beloved of the people?" That last remark elicited a scowl from Megara. 

Pondering for a moment, she replied. "Well, yes. But nothing like the hellstorm if it all comes out!"

"Do you truly think no one knows about those children!? You are clever, I will give you that. But you are young and stupid to boot."

Megara stood and paced back and forth in front of the fire angrily. She threw her arms up, slapping them to her sides finally, facing Flemeth. The tears came."I told no one. I left as soon as I knew I was with child and Cailan spurned me. He wouldn't risk the kingdom for his bastard, much as he hated ruling it."

"Do you not think he wanted children...an heir? Anora was barren and colder than I in bed!"

Megara glared anew at the old woman. "Oh, he wanted children. _Very_ much. He needed an heir. But he only wanted a _legitimate_ heir. You know, Loghain wanted him to divorce Anora, his own daughter. To find a fertile wife. Cailan had agreed and proposed a match with Orlais," she stopped then, chuckling bitterly. "Loghain lost it at that. His tempestuous reaction nearly caused Cailan to demote him. That's when I told him. He was so happy at first. Gloriously so. He even took me on holiday to Redcliffe. But then he said he realized Ferelden would never accept me as their Queen, or our bastard child. He said the people loved Anora, even if he couldn't. We didn't speak that night and I refused him access to my bed. The next day he made to return to Denerim. He came to me, then, with a wild look in his eyes. I'd...I'd never seen him look like that before. He begged me to return with him, pass the baby off as Anora's so the kingdom could have its heir; and the king his..."

"Whore?" Flemeth finished. She stook another bite. Spitting out a piece of gristle, she pondered the miserable woman in front of her. "Where did you go after you told Cailan no? You did tell him no, yes?"

"Maker's breath!" Megara exploded. "Of course I told him no! You think I would willingly give up my child, any child, to be raised by that frigid bitch!?"

"From what I hear, she wasn't always so frigid, eh?" Flemeth asked, watching Megara's reaction intently. As she suspected, the mage blushed angrily.

"That is neither here nor there. Cailan never bedded her again, even forcibly."

"Well _here_ , here is a Blight. And you are going to need to fight it. Where did you go?" she asked, landing an icy glare at the young woman who was evading her questions.

"I went...I went back. I had to," she choked out the last of the words, a sob rising in her throat as the memories she had worked so hard to suppress were now being forcibly returned to her.

"So you went back to the Dalish, even after they banished you?"

"I went home!!" Megara shouted, her whole body trembling with a volatile mix of emotions.

Flemeth stood and handed Megara her bowl. "Here girl, wash the bowls now. I'm old and feeble." Flemeth smirked. "So how did Keeper Liberia and the rest of the clan feel about this? You were, after all, forbade to return."

Megara's hands shook as she scraped the dishes. "Keeper Liberia..." She'd not said the name in so long. It was a whisper to her heart, something unlocked, a treasure of a memory. She never spoke any Dalish words, or names. But now she had no choice. "Keeper Liberia forbade anyone to harass or even speak to me. I stayed on the edge of the camp in an unused aravel. The Clan respected her too much to disobey, but their hatred of me was so that I was truly ostracized. When my time came, she delivered them, my children, herself. The boy, my...son. He was born first. I never even got to hold him. I can still hear his cries as she left me there, bloodied, departing the aravel with my newborn son wrapped in a blanket in the dead of night. When she came back, she realized I was carrying another child. I was too weak to bring the babe myself. I was so weak, that I labored two more days. Liberia thought I would die for sure. But the babe came, finally. Alive. A tiny, perfect little girl. Liberia did not expect this second child and did not have a family for her, obviously. So she let me nurse her. Two weeks, I held my daughter in that little aravel in the woods. The rest of the clan had since moved on, towards the Brecilian Forest again, near the Sabrae clan. I hoped and wished Keeper Liberia would never come for her. I sand Dalish lullabies to her, and walked with her in the forest. One day, Keeper Liberia came back, alone. She took my daughter then. I have never known...such...anguish. yet I did not fight her. I never fought once, for my daughter, or my son. And now they're gone."

Flemeth watched as Megara stood over the washing pan, set upon an upturned piece of split wood, washing the same bowl over and over, dripping silent tears into the water.

Flemeth's eyes narrowed. "Where are they now? Where did Liberia take the King's bastards?"

Megara threw the bowl at her. With a simple wave of her hand, Flemeth deflected it midair. She strode up to Megara and slapped her, the ring on her hand cutting Megara's cheek where she'd hit her earlier. 

"Stop your damn sniveling, weak girl, and think! Where did Liberia take the children?"

"I don't know" Megara said, utterly defeated. Miserably, she watched the blood trickle from her face and wished nothing more than for Flemeth to kill her out of irritation.

"You need to stop this now. Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Flemeth's voice boomed at her. "Stop being a coward. Unless you want this Blight to overrun Ferelden and kill your children, wherever they may be, then pull it together!"

Shock registered with Megara; fear and doubt creeping into her mind and rattling her nerves to the core. "But what can I do?" she whispered.

"You can wipe your damn nose." Flemeth crossed her arms and watched as Megara cleaned her swollen face yet again.

"Good. Now then. Get back to camp before dawn. Do not speak of this. Press on. Fulfill the treaties. End the Blight." She walked away from Megara then, the chilly night air whirling around her.

"But how? Why me, what can I possibly do!?" Megara cried out, confused and desperate.

At the edge of the forest clearing, Flemeth began to glow. With a burst of air and light, she turned into a great beast of a wolf, black and silver. The creature turned to look at Megara and spoke to her then, still with Flemeth's voice. "You have a power within you so great that you do not even recognize it or know it exists. The likeness I've not seen in hundreds of years. I do not waste my time with hapless mages like the scared sheep in the Circles. You are much different. You will rival Morrigan when you come into your full power. Pray she does not realize it." Turning and beginning to pad away, she stopped one last time and threw over her now hulking and muscular wolf shoulder, "Better put up the soup, girl, it's getting cold." Just like that, she was gone, leaping into the forest, snarling and leaving Megara bereft and shocked.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hullo lovelies! Here is the next chapter, hope you enjoy it. Thank you for all the reviews, especially Kyla for reviewing so many chapters! I am going to try and answer a few questions I've gotten in my inbox as well:  
> *No, Megara is not a blood mage.  
> *I don't know how many chapters this will be yet. A lot.  
> *Yes, "Silence is Golden" is about Megara's life before this. No, I won't be releasing it until I've finished this.  
> *Because for some reason it is confusing a lot of readers, I will go into a small amount of the detail from where Megara knows Flemeth. For the full story, you'll have to wait to read Silence is Golden. At one point, Megara had traveled to Merrill's clan in the Brecilian Forest to carry a message. She learns Merrill's secret and attempts to assassinate her as she is worshipping Flemeth at the altar on the mountain. Flemeth intervenes. That is ALL I will say about that for now.  
> *Lol...no, Megara's children are not the Hawke twins that Leandra "took in". Megara is not that old.

**30:Dragon, 17th of Guardian**

Her lungs were screaming for proper air, burning from the exertion she'd pushed herself to. After Flemeth had left her, she'd grumbled and sulked about the small camp. She kicked the dirt, she yelled at the trees, she sobbed. Finally, she resolved to go back. She hated, hated admitting Flemeth had been right to herself. Maker's breath I hate that batty old bitch! Moments later as her footsteps pounded through the woods, she'd tripped and fallen face first. "Very funny" she muttered, standing up to brush herself off and continue hurtling herself back to camp. Dawn was fast approaching. Warden Tara was always up and about at first light. No one would check her tent that early, but she certainly couldn't enter camp unseen if someone was up other than the watch and last night, she was supposed to be on watch.

Her side was aching, her calves were locking up. Not much further. She pushed on, pell mell through the forest. She cursed her own stubbornness, had she left shortly after Flemeth, she could walked back instead of running like she had a rabid pack of Darkspawn at her heels. _Could've taken the leisurely route. Oooo, look, here we have some Fereldan shrubs! Stunning....I put the blasted stew up for her, though, didn't I!?_ Coming upon the clearing which housed the camp from that night, she came to an abrupt halt to catch her breath and survey the surroundings. Sunlight was just beginning to creep through the trees. Not seeing anyone, she slipped to her tent and put her pack and staff inside. Stretching her limbs out before she climbed in, she realized just how exhausted she was.

"Megara! Good, you're already awake. I want to get an early start today, we're nearly at Haven. Can you give me a hand with this?" Tara called.

 _Bloody hell._ Sighing, she turned to go and help Tara.

Megara had nearly fallen from her horse in exhaustion several times. When they'd packed to leave, she'd noticed Morrigan's note missing and then Zevran's she'd burned. Nodding off on her horse again, she awoke to a sharp jab in her side. Morrigan was grinning mischievously beside her on her own horse.

"Shape shifting all night, were we?" she asked saucily.

"I didn't think anyone had seen me!" Megara hissed in surprise, checking to make sure they were far enough behind everyone else so as not to be heard.

"Oh I see everything. As does Mother...now what did she have to say?" Morrigan's triumphant grin both annoyed and amused Megara.

Leaving out the part about her powers, she told Morrigan everything, as the horses headed up the mountain path to Haven. Morrigan had thanked her for the mirror, a rare moment of emotion.

"I'll never understand why women allow themselves to become so enchanted by men and make fools of themselves, though. What were you thinking?" Morrigan asked, not even a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"There will come a day when you find your own self under such a powerful spell, witch!" she spat, venom and conviction in her voice. _She is haughty now, but I suspect she's never known a lover's touch, not even when she said she was going to the Pearl. That will change her damned pessimistic view, alright!_

"My, my." Morrigan replied, sounding genuinely surprised at her outburst. "So...you truly do not know where the bast...babes are?" her dark friend inquired lightly.

"No," she frowned. "They're not babes any longer. They will be going on four years old now." Only the fact that she was too tired to cry kept her from breaking down again.

"What would you have named them?" Morrigan asked suddenly.

She whipped her head over to look at the witch riding beside her. Oddly, there was not a trace of spite or malice in Morrigan's face. Only a sad sort of curiosity mixed with something even Megara couldn't identify. Perplexed at the sudden change of mood, coupled with the strange question, she paused.

"I...I truly never thought of it. From the moment Cailan rejected me, I knew I would have to give my child up for the assurance of their survival. I didn't allow myself such a fanciful thought." She clicked to her horse, spurring his pace to catch the others who were dismantling up ahead.

"A wise choice but an unwise lie" Morrigan whispered hollowly behind her.

She had whispered his name, though, her son. Only once. Dizzy from the pain of childbirth and the heartache of having her babe ripped from her, she had indeed whispered his name. "Baihlles." Closing her eyes she had prayed to every god she could think of that her child's parents would hear the whisper carried on the wind, from a heartsick mother. When she opened her eyes, the Keeper had gone. It was some minutes before she'd felt the pressure of the second child coming. She was too weak.

Having left the horses off the trail and with Sten to guard them, the rest of the group hiked by foot up the hill. Megara was numb to her exhaustion, lost in thought. Zevran's carousing and Alistair's poor jokes couldn't break her silence, nor her frown. They were very nearly to Haven, the only path up the steep mountainside being a rocky trail shaded by pine trees. The traveling was slow, it wasn't a wide path and Leliana kept stopping to pluck herbs from the ground. 

When at last they came around a turn in the path which opened to a small clearing, Tara called a halt to rest and eat from their packs. Alistair pulled Megara aside.

"Hey. Look, I know you're busy brooding and all and normally I'd just sit back and enjoy it and laugh...but are you okay?" Megara was floored. He looked...genuinely concerned. She could nothing but gape at him.

"Oh, Maker don't look at me like that. If Grey senses a disturbance he may eat me up. I just, well, I haven't been very nice to you but seeing you today concerned me. We're a team, we're in this together. To stop the Blight. So we need to be there for each other. Aaaand I just thought, I'd let you know I was there. Or here. For you I mean." He was fumbling over his words, but smiling. His cockeyed grin was goofy but infectious. She smiled back at him. His golden hair was gleaming in the sunlight and he lightly put a hand on her arm.

"Thank you, Alistair. Truly. I've not been on my best behaviour either and I'm sorry. Today I'm just tired and a little sad. Thinking about all we've lost. But I will be fine, especially with friends like you to help me."

He had surprised her even further by pulling her into a quick, crushing hug. The embrace had elicited a look from no less than everyone else in their party. Leliana was outright frowning, Zevran arched an eyebrow and kicked at the dirt, Morrigan's icy glare went unnoticed in the shadows and Tara looked as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. 

"Good!" Alistair released her and clapped her on the shoulder clumsily. "Because while we're losing things you can pretend to lose to me at Wicked Grace tonight" he said and bounded off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megara's son's name is pronounced "Ba-uh-leez". Rhymes with Achilles. What do you think now? Is Morrigan conspiring with Flemeth? Will Megara's little lies ruin her friendship with the witch or will they catch up with her? Why is Alistair changing his tune towards her? He IS Cailan's brother, looking a bit like him. Uh-oh. There are some jealous vibes going on now, how will that change the dynamics of the group?


	13. Wandering Feet Have Gone Too Far

**30:Dragon, 17th of Guardian**

Megara knew right away that something was very wrong with Haven. She stepped back, as skittish as a startled horse, after stepping on a twig and breaking it.

"Are you alright?" Alistair asked, reaching out a hand protectively.

"The Veil is so thin here. This place is dangerous. It just feels wrong." She shivered, not from the cold, but a sense of foreboding.

"Morrigan? What do you think?" Tara asked, frowning as she surveyed the desolate village.

The witch merely frowned in reply, running her fingers over a locket around her neck.

Other than one strange child, the group had not seen a single soul. It was eerily quiet. Even Grey stuck close to the group, his ears laid back and a low growl humming from his throat every now and then. Tara decided they should split up; one group going to the store and the rest checking on a house that Morrigan sense some disturbance from. Already unsettled, Megara went with Leliana and Zevran to the store to attempt at trading. While the clerk seemed shocked to see them, he was friendly enough and sold them the goods they asked for, amicably. Tara had asked them all to meet near the Chantry afterwards, so they headed there next.

While they waited, Leliana busied herself collecting some roots she spied from a nearby bush. Megara was feeling ill from the effects of the Veil, so she walked over to Zevran and tucked her arms in front of her and leaned her head against his shoulder. Zevran made her feel safer. She wasn't used to feeling fear to begin with. She could feel his body jerk slightly in surprised when she sidled up to him, but it was only a moment before he wrapped his arms around her. 

"Shhh, it will be fine, my beauty. I think the air does not agree with you, hmm?" he asked, stroking her hair to calm her. She buried her face against his neck and pressed herself closer to him.

"You could sleep like this every night, you know," Zevran's voice was husky, but tender. Megara stepped back to answer him but was interrupted when the others came running and shouting up the hill. Morrigan was the first to the top, out of breath but clearly from the look of her, things were about to go from bad to ugly.

"It seems out mage was right about this place. Let's go see what's going on in the Chantry," Morrigan declared. While they made the short trek up the last of the hill to the Haven Chantry, Alistair filled the rest in on what they'd found.

Megara nearly gagged. Grey was growling audibly now and everyone was completely on edge. Megara almost didn't want to go inside the place, it practically emanated evil. Once inside, she realized just how right she was.

They walked inside to a middle aged man giving a sermon. He stopped mid sentence, a mighty glare on his face. He crossed his arms and began arguing with their leader. Megara felt woozy. There was so much evil in this place. She couldn't even breathe properly, it was stifling her so. Instinctively, she reached for Maferath's Betrayal and held it before her, still not quite listening to the conversation but keenly aware that it was not going to end well.

Suddenly, Tara jumped aside to dodge a spell that Father Eirik had cast. All hell broke loose after. Some of the villagers fled out the front door but most attacked, along with the guards. Her team pounced into position, Megara could hear nothing but her heart pounding as she cast spells and maneuvered to stay out of the range of those with swords. She and Morrigan focused on Father Eirik, who was proving to be quite a powerful foe. Megara had to use several spells to try and bind him still. Morrigan was both healing and attempting to lodge the odd fireball at him. Everything blurred together for Megara, she was focused but at the same time she felt like she wasn't even in her own body but watching the fight from afar. 

The battle had drained her. Leliana was wounded and everyone was winded. Every guard and villager was dead at their feet, the wooden floors soaked with blood, spattered on the walls, dripping from chairs. Morrigan had drily remarked that even all these deaths could not repay the blood Haven had likely shed over its years.

Megara was trying to open a vial of lyrium potion but her hands were shaking. Cursing, she slammed her head against the wall. She was sitting against a wall, in one of the only remotely blood-free spots. She was beyond exhausted and desperately wanted this blasted potion open. Alistair walked over, bent down and took the bottle from her, opening it deftly. When he passed it back to her, he rubbed her fingers. Surprised in her stupor, she looked up. They locked gazes for a long moment. "Thank you," she said, turning away. When she looked back, he was in another corner arguing with Tara, both of them using animated hand motions. She couldn't hear what they were saying. Feeling the potion kick in, she pursed her lips and struggled up.

Upon investigating the rooms, they soon made a shocking discovery. Brother Gentivi, wounded severely, was sequestered in a hidden room. They had all tried to rush in at once, causing a bit of a scuffle and a few swear words, but they all managed to finally squeeze in. After healing him and listening to his story, they decided to press on to find the Urn.

Megara was heartily glad to hear it. They exited the Chantry through a back passage, carved into the very rock of the mountain. Megara lingered about, last to leave. Once everyone was safely away, she turned back, almost mechanically. She ducked through the rock and back inside the building. letting her gaze take in the blood and the horror these fanatics had wrought, she shuddered violently. Quickly, she released her staff and trained it on a tapestry, lighting it on fire. Thick black smoke began to curl upwards, filling the ceiling. She lit three others on fire just to be sure. Exiting the building and stepping back into the rock entrance, she wasn't surprised to see Zevran standing there, his arms crossed. Before he could speak she waved him over. 

"Help me with this stone door," she said simply. They shoved and pushed until the stone rolled into place, blocking the Chantry and preventing any smoke to float through. 

"Why am I not surprised?" Zevran asked lightly, a trace of irritation in his voice.

"Don't be then. Such a cache of foul and evil things must be laid to waste. Burnt from this earth. I don't care if you agree or not," she spat back, striding off up the hill.

It wasn't long before they were in the temple proper. The very sight stole Megara's breath. It was amazingly beautiful. High, vaulted ceilings that stretched beyond sight, columns and carvings everywhere. The open cavern was gigantic. Where light filtered in here and there, the dust that danced through it seemed to sparkle and tease her. There were arches and statues, everything intricately carved and placed with purpose. The untouched silence gave the temple an air of magic and intrigue. Megara was staring in open-mouthed wonder. The air was cold and as she gaped at all in her vision, Megara noticed there was snow piled about in the temple. Pristine white snow, not the filthy kind she had stepped through as of late. Utterly delighted, she raced past Leliana and Genitivi, who were animatedly discussing some ancient writing on one of the walls. Grey was chewing on a large icicle and Morrigan was pulling on gloves. Megara jogged over to one of the columns, stretching it's frozen arms up into the darkness. Crouching at its base, she sifted her fingers through the soft, powdery snow. She'd never seen snow this pure and perfect. It was very cold but felt marvelous to her hands. Suddenly, she had an idea.

A few minutes later she stood up carefully, her arms bursting with carefully packed snowballs. Picking one, she folded her other arm around the rest and hugged them to her chest. She turned to look over her shoulder. Leliana and Zevran were standing near the entrance looking bored, Alistair was trying to pull Grey off the icicle and then Tara was advancing towards her. Smiling wickedly, she turned on her heel and pelted her leader with a snowball. Silence lasted only a few moments. "Why, you little!!!" Tara screeched at her and bent to scoop up a pile of snow. Megara launched another at her hair and took off running as carefully as she could. Soon, everyone was scrambling. A full blown snow ball fight ensued in the large cavern entrance. They tried to form teams at first but no one could resist pelting anyone with a snowball when their back was turned. Megara landed one on Zevran's arse and peeled away to hide behind a column. Breathing heavily she realized it was everyone for themselves. Grey bounded happily all over the place, barking and scampering about.

Peeking around the corner, she was met with a snow ball full to face from Morrigan. Screaming, she took off after her, lodging every one of hers back at her friend. Morrigan was too quick, however and soon evaded her. Slipping on a sheet of ice, she nearly went down on her hip had it not been for Grey. Steadying herself she patted him on the head and jumped behind another column to make more snow balls. Her fingers were frozen and she had to lick icy driplets running down her face. There was still snow in her hair but she couldn't stop. She could hear Leliana and Tara shrieking. She forced her fingers to unlock and form six more snowballs. Crouching, she waited. 

"Aha!" she whispered to herself as Morrigan attempted to creep by her. Forgetting the other snowballs, Megara reared back both arms and launched both snowballs at Morrigan's back. One sailed pitifully past her but another hit her square in the neck. 

"Ewww, you awful mage, it's running down my coat!" It was hilarious to see the witch squeal and jump about, shaking her coat. Her chest heaving, Megara took a quick peak before running and sliding towards the right side of the cavern. She zigzagged up the middle and dashed behind a decrepit fountain, breathless. She tried to form another snowball but her fingers were red and swollen. Squeezing them open and shut, she finally managed one. Setting it aside, she peeked around the corner of the fountain. Zevran was trying to flee from Morrigan who was obviously cheating and using some spell to launch endless snowballs. Tara and Leliana were no where to be seen but their shrieks echoed off the frozen walls. Adjusting her feet, she made to crawl around the other side of the fountain.

"Boo!" Alistair cackled, hitting her with a snowball in the arm. Yelling, she lopsidedly launched her last one at him. Scrambling to her feet awkwardly, she vaulted away and in her glee down a hallway. Lots of fallen rock and columns littered the path. Jumping and dodging, she finally came to a halt and found a hiding spot. Crouching don quickly, she grabbed a small scoop of snow and formed one last snow ball. When Alistair ran past her, she hit him in the back with it. Turning, she made to run back out of the hall but slipped on the ice. Alistair caught her wrist and tried to pull her back up but misjudged his own footing and slid with her. They twisted and slid, skidding to a halt near the wall. Alistair had both his hands around her waist, her hands clutching his arms. Laughing, they both let go and tried to catch their breath. Megara's face was hot from exertion and she stepped around Alistair to leave.

"Megara," Alistair said, in a voice she'd never heard from him. She froze, turning back towards him. All of a sudden he was slamming her against the wall, pressing himself into her. His body was trembling and he had a wild look in his eyes. Megara's heart was racing and her skin felt on fire. She pushed him away, keeping her gaze locked on his eyes, fiercely. Then his lips bore down on hers, hungrily. Stunned, she pressed her palms against the icy stone wall and backed up. He stepped forward, pressing himself into her. His tongue was hot and needy, desperate in her mouth. Losing her breath, and will, she kissed him back. She was screaming at herself in her head but all she could focus on was his warmth. She bit his lip angrily but he ran his tongue across her lip and back into her mouth. A low moan escaped from his throat and he made to move his kisses to her neck. She snapped out of it and shoved him away. Panting, they watched each other warily. 

"I...I'm so sorry," he whispered, a look of confusion crossing his face before he took off at a reckless run down the hall. Megara lifted her frozen palms up to cover her face and cool it. _Cailan_. When Alistair had kissed her...she had thought of Cailan. _Why? Maker why did he do that? Why did I even respond!!?_ Kicking the wall in confusion and frustration, she tore down the corridor to the main hall.

Very carefully they both rejoined the snowball fray, engaging each other and pretending nothing had ever happened. They didn't look each other in the eye once, but managed to smile and laugh with glee with all their other companions. Afterwards, they all sat, giggling and exhausted around a fire pit that someone had relit. Zevran was complaining about Morrigan's trickery. It was getting late and they needed sleep but were too exposed in this large, open cavern. 

"I can go scout for a closed in side room, somewhere safer," she offered. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She had already snapped at Zevran, moments earlier. 

"Good idea. You shouldn't go alone though, deeper into the temple. There may be some straggler zealots left or monsters of some sort. Take Alistair with you," Tara said, turning back to adding fodder on the fire.

 _Well, fuck._

They traveled in silence, keeping an arm's length distance at all times. They quickly realized the temple was not indeed quite as abandoned as the entrance foyer. They had to spend a bit of time clearing the side wing they were in, giant spiders and cultists and a lone wolf. Dispatching them fairly easily, they finally came to the end of the tunnel. They stopped to catch their breath and take a drink from their canteens. Alistair, his hands on his hips, paced about the chamber. Wildly, Megara wished for an instant that he would push her against the wall and kiss her again. Quickly she admonished herself and shook the unwelcome thought from her mind. Alistair stopped pacing in front of her.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I don't know what possessed m to do that. I won't let it happen again," he said in a strangled tone. His face was dark and fierce and his tone angry. He immediately spun around and stalked down the way they'd come.

Megara had never heard him speak without fumbling over his words. Hesitating, she raced to catch up to him. Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it. "Let's be friends, okay?" She asked lightly, looking up at him and smiling.

His eyes softened and he finally smiled. "Yeah I'd like that." He squeezed her hand back and let go.

That night they settled in a small room almost at the end of the corridor. It had no snow but no ventilation. The ceilings in the corridor were so low that a fire for warmth was impossible. It wasn't overly freezing in this room, but it was definitely cold. Leliana argued for going back. Megara came up with a plan. In the final room, where a large crack in the wall split and snaked up to the corner in the ceiling, they built a roaring fire. The smoke could pass through to outside fine. Then they could sleep in the adjoining room, and have some of the benefit of the heat. Megara and Morrigan set traps all the way down the hallway to the room. To keep themselves safe and try to prevent the warmth from seeping out, they blocked the entrance to the room they'd sleep in with a large stone slab. It took four of them to shove it into place. 

"There, nothing can sneak up on us and no need for watch, either. We can all get some sleep." Morrigan was always sensible.

They all laid out their bedrolls close to each other. It was warmer, but still quite chilly. They were shivering and chattering in no time and soon decided to pair up for warmth. Alistair and Tara were already huddled together under their blankets. Tara's snoring was rumbling about the chamber as the rest of them rearranged. Before Megara could nestle up to Zevran, Leliana had moved over beside him, giggling about wanting some Antivan warmth. Zevran had frowned slightly but not said anything to discourage her. Laying back to back with Morrigan, she seethed, trying to remind herself she had no right to be angry. Silent tears burned her eyes and she cursed her foolishnes.

**30:Dragon, 18th of Guardian**

In the morning, she was the first to get up. She rolled her pack up quietly and laced her boots. As she turned to look at her companions, Alistair and Tara were wound in each others' arms. Smiling she looked over to Zevran and Leliana. Her face became a mask of fury. Leliana was cuddled into Zevran, the very same way he had held her yesterday. We can sleep like this every night... His words echoed hollowly in her mind. Swallowing as much of her rage as she could, she shouldered her pack and walked the few steps down the corridor to the stone slab. She was shaking with anger and hurt. Gathering her emotions, she harnessed them into an explosive spell from her fingertips, blasting the slab apart. The noise rang through the corridor and rooms, mingling with Leliana and Tara's screams. Not missing a beat, Megara strode down the way, stepping over every single trap and not bothering to disarm them.When the group caught up with her, Tara was furious. Her pale was red and her eyes gleamed. She tried to engage Megara in an argument, but she simply glared back silently, refusing to utter a word. Exasperated, Tara threw up her hands and ordered everyone to follow her so they could begin exploring the temple. Megara refused to speak to anyone that morning. Morrigan seemed bemused by her wrath, Alistair distressed and Leliana terrified. At least Zevran had the decency to look ashamed. They pressed on, looking for maps or keys or anything that might tell them where the Urn was.

After a particularly nasty battle with an Ash Wraith, they discovered a snow-covered, ornate chest. Zevran seemed to materialize a tool with which he quickly picked the chest. Tara bent down to sort through the contents. 

"Hmmm, not much of anything to help us find the Urn, but there are some valuable things in here. Take what you will, comrades," she said, selecting a bracelet and some sort of goblet. Each person, save for Megara, who chose to stand against a wall sulking, took their turn looting the chest.

Leliana found a little statue she thought would please Sten. "He must think we are surely dead by now," she whispered worriedly.

Zevran stood after placing a few things in his pack and walked over to her. He held out his fist, turning it over and letting his fingers open. He had a very pleased smile on his face. In his open palm was a beautiful black pearl, bigger than any she'd ever seen. Not wavering in her anger, Megara knocked his hand away, sending the pearl scattering to the ground. As she stormed away, she could hear Leliana gasp and Zevran's angry growl.

It only seemed fitting to her misery that Leliana later recognized the damn thing and used it to light some enormous brazier in the main hall, towards the back. It opened another door, to the inner temple, and a room full of powerful foes. Megara had been lost in her thoughts, angrily standing near the door's entrance while the others had clustered around the brazier. She was full of thoughts; the storeroom in Redcliffe and a foolish kiss in an icy corridor. Huffing, she wrenched herself away from the wall the moment the door slid open, charging in, her staff held high. She hadn't waited on the others but set to work. Despite using her best spells and channeling her emotions into power, she nearly got herself killed. Everyone knew it, too. She almost wanted to die, then. Once the last wraith and demon had been slain, they all looked at her. She was sprawled in a corner, chest heaving. Aware of their eyes on her, she struggled up and stood defiantly. She winced in pain and swayed. Tara strode up to her, grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and shook her.

"Why!? Why would you do that? You almost died, Megara! You can't storm into a room full of wraiths and demons by yourself! Do you want a suicide mission so badly!? Do you not stop to think of anyone but yourself, ever!? We need you!" There were tears in her eyes.

Although Megara was momentarily cowed, she kept her resolve to remain silent. She was also sure that where Tara held her arms, pinching, that there would be bruises, she didn't move though, allowing the shorter woman to shake her and curse at her. Finally, a sob escaped Tara. She let go of her forcefully, turned to go but stopped. Tara whirled around and slapped her once, then again with her other hand. In her weakened state, Megara fell backwards again, coming down hard on her hip. She bit her lip hard too, to keep from crying out. She could feel blood flood her mouth and tears threaten to fall but she allowed herself no concessions. Tara stalked off and Alistair grabbed her, wrapping his fellow Warden in an embrace. As she watched Tara sob into Alistair's chest, she was acutely aware of everyone's glares.

Once Tara had calmed and they had started progressing again, only then did she utter a small cry of pain. Lifting her shirt, her side was already turning black and bruising. She was a tornado of emotions as she trudged solemnly far behind the others. She was furious with herself, with Zevran and Alistair. She couldn't bring herself to feel any anger towards Tara. Tara was their leader and had every right to be angry with her. She was hurt and confused and lonely. Surrounded by these people all these weeks, she still felt completely alone. 

As the others descended into the lower caves, she wanted to bolt. She started to, but her legs were cement. She stood transfixed, watching everyone duck their heads and leave the temple behind. She couldn't breathe, her chest felt tight. She knew she needed to cry. Refusing, she turned her head in spite. Finally, she lifted her feet and turned to run. She stopped only a few yards away, distracted by a reflection she thought was a foe. Realizing it was her own haggard reflection shining from a mirror-like wall, she harnessed her staff.

She walked over to the wall, crossing her feet as she stepped, mesmerized by the sight. She stared at herself. She was haggard, indeed. Her eyes were sunken, the light in them gone. Her golden hair seemed dull. She'd lost weight and her skin didn't glow. She couldn't rip her gaze away, though.

_What have I become?_

For a long while, she stood perfectly still, gazing at herself. Reaching into her pocket, she felt Connor's soft locket of hair. It was both devastating and reassuring. Her mind was a furious storm of emotions, thoughts and regrets.She felt like a child, then. "Liberia" she whispered mournfully, not stopping the tears. They fell, as she watched her reflection. She shivered and hung her head finally. "Above all, I want you to learn to be kind" Keeper Liberia's words rang in her head. Megara took a deep breath, resolving herself.

Snapping her head up, she stared boldly back at herself. "I am not Jowan. I will not run in cowardice. I will not betray my friends or those I love. I will stay and I will fight," she said confidently to the mirror. Her eyes were now bright with determination. Reaching a steady hand out, she touched her reflection. It disappeared and she found herself staring at an ordinary grey wall. Stepping back, she perused the wall again. Shaking her head, she turned and jogged quickly to the path, eager to catch up with her comrades and atone for her mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear, Alistair and Tara shippers. Before the hate mail starts. ;) I'm not intent on breaking your beloved pairing, hahaha. Tis merely a piece of my plot, my dastardly plans. What did you think? Can Megara ever really change her ways? Will Zevran move on to Leliana? Will they find the Urn?


	14. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter the Fourteenth: “Fear”  
> Author's Note: Oh hullo lovelies. I have been missing for aaaages, I know. Terribly sorry. Life has dumped chaos on me as well as snow. Everything seems settled so I promise not to neglect poor Megara any more if at all possible. ***This chapter contains dialogue directly from the game. I did not write this, nor do I own any Bioware content. It is contained merely for story purposes.
> 
> **RATED M FOR MATURE SCENES***

**30:Dragon, 20th of Guardian**

The caves had went on forever, seemingly stretching their dark and dank arms on with no end. The stress of being stuck in them with no progress was taking its toll on the group.

"We've been down here three whole days, Tara. There's nothing but dragonlings and dirt. The Urn isn't down here. We don't even know that it exists!" Leliana exploded, kicking a rock. The bard's patience was gone, she was obviously very near to tears. Megara raised an eyebrow at her.

They were all tired, though. Supplies were running dangerously low and there truly was nothing to forage for the deeper they went. Zevran had jokingly suggested they roast one of the dragonlings, to many disgusted looks. 

"There's no end to this, truly," Zevran remarked, picking dragonling guts off his boots with a frown.

Megara was beginning to think they needed to turn around too, perhaps they missed something in the temple proper. Rounding a turn while they were all bickering about what to do, Tara stopped short. Just ahead, several men seemed to be waiting for them in a larger, open cavern. Megara caught a whiff of fresh air and her hopes soared.

The men didn't look like bandits, or the same cultists from Haven's Chantry. She quickly noted how many there were and their locations as well as the exits while Tara led the wary group towards the men. Although they didn't have weapons drawn, the group knew better than to walk in blindly trusting these strangers. Zevran had both hands firmly grasping his daggers and Megara had already loosed one strap on Maferath's Betrayal. Her hand lightly rested on her hip, fingertips lightly running over the handle of Dragon's Tooth.

Tara walked up to their leader, a tall man with black hair, deeply tanned skin and a neatly trimmed beard. He was wearing silver armor that seemed awfully polished for the tunnels. Megara knew in an instant that her intuition about fresh air and an exit was correct. This man and his crew did not live here in the tunnels, not as tidy as they were. Tara had opened her mouth to form an introduction when the man interrupted her.

"Stop! You will go no further," he bellowed, holding up his hand. Alistair stepped up beside Tara protectively, his hand twitching on his blade. 

"Who are you," Tara asked, obviously irritated at the man's lack of manners.

"You do not have the right to demand my name," he spat. Megara watched in amusement with Morrigan as the mages both shook their heads. Warden Tara might have been quiet most times, but they both knew that refusing her the basic courtesy of proper speech was a dangerous thing to do. Interestingly, Megara noted that the man's eyes seemed to almost bulge from his head as he spoke, he seemed a bit...crazed. 

"Oh yes, this one is definitely another crazy cultist," Morrigan quipped under her breath. Megara stifled a giggle, they both leaned against each other to watch the confrontation.

"You have defiled our temple! You have spilled the blood of the faithful and slaughtered our young. No more. You will tell me now, intruder, why have you done all this. Why have you come here?" The man thundered, but Megara noted that he seemed all speech and doubted seriously that he could back it up with fight.

Megara watched Tara's jaw twitch as she said, carefully, "Tell me your name and I will tell you why I am here."

"Such a stickler for formalities," Megara whispered. Morrigan tittered. Zevran scowled at them both as if they were naughty children.

Oddly enough, the man seemed to remember some of his manners. "I am Father Kolgrim, leader and guide to the Disciples of Andraste." 

Megara breathed easily but for only a moment. Kolgrim continued, "Kill us, and you will face Andraste. She will smell our blood and the blood of her children and her wrath will be great."

At this Megara nearly lost it. _The dragonlings, children? What, is Andraste supposed to be a damned Mother dragon now?_

"Andraste is dead," Tara and Leliana said in unison.

It would be most interesting to see how the former Chantry sister would handle this. They went back and forth for several moments with the man, who was trying to convince the team to take a vial of what Megara suspected was dragonling blood and pour it on the Sacred Ashes. After hashing things out back and forth, Tara asked for a moment to speak with her comrades. They all walked a few feet away to convene.

"What is this talk of blood and power? And he thinks Andraste is reborn? It is preposterous! Oh, I do not like this," Leliana objected fiercely. 

Before Tara could simply agree with Leliana, which she knew she very well would do, Megara stepped up and interrupted. "Tara, this man is obviously corrupted in his brain. Why not lie and take his vial, avoid a fight? How is he ever going to know what we do, anyways? We need out of these tunnels. We may be too weak to fight him and his men at this point," she reasoned, keeping her voice even and calm. 

Tara seemed to consider for a moment while both Alistair and Leliana objected vehemently. In the end, Tara had simply walked away from them all and back to Kolgrim. She had taken the vial and given her word to defile the Urn. Only her companions could see her fingers crossed behind her back. 

"Now, I shall beseech the holy Andraste to let you pass into the Inner Sanctum," Kolgrim announced.

They all finally exited the caves, sunlight temporarily causing them all to stop and blink, adjusting to the light after being in the dark for so long. Megara stretched, her body felt so stiff after being trapped in the low ceilings of the caves. They were standing upon a hill, ruins surrounding them, down into a low valley with a curious round gong atop a small hill. There were cliffs raising up opposite them, and across the way an opening in the mountainside, looking like the entrance to another temple. The Urn. After everyone had sufficiently stretched and adjusted to the light, they began trekking down the hillside towards the opening. 

They headed down, under old stone archways, remnants of a glorious time past. The air felt too still, too heavy all of a sudden. Megara felt very wary and nervous. Looking around at her comrades, she could tell her intuition was spot on as nearly everyone was fingering their weapons and staring about for danger. They were passing into the valley, heading towards the entrance when she felt it. A whoosh of air, hot and heavy. She whipped her head up and around, crouching low. A massive, purple dragon swooped over them, it's wings stretched out, blocking the sunlight. Megara could see the scales on the great beast, it had soared so low. Everyone had ducked, grabbing their weapons as the monster lifted its heavy wings and perched atop one of the cliffs overlooking the small valley leading to the door. It seemed to settle down, however, coiling it's scaled, dark body into the rocks, laying its head down to watch them with glinting, evil eyes. Megara felt it hard to breath, not for the sulfur in the air from the pools of acidic water or the geysers, but from fear. She had faced a dragon once before and nearly lost her life.

_Two years ago..._ **28:Dragon, Bloomingtide**

She had been eager to impress her new lover. She was just a nobody, someone of no remark. He was a King, a noble and the man who'd stolen her heart. For all the ill talk of Cailan, she knew him to be brave and adventurous. On their short, stolen moments, they usually went in search of some sort of danger or another, some kind of battle, just the two of them pitted against great beasts, the thrill of it beating in their hearts, bringing them as much joy as their lovemaking did.

This time had been different, though. Megara had heard rumors, while at a tavern outside Denerim of a dragon. They were rarely seen, most believed them to be long dead. She couldn't ignore the man boasting, however, for he wasn't drunk and didn't seem to be a fool. She had listened patiently, waiting for the man to leave. When he did, she quickly joined him outside, offering him four silvers for the location of this beast. He had seemed honest enough, trying to refuse her for the danger. Yet she had persisted and her coins proved to be too tempting. As he pocketed the money and she the directions, a grin spread across her face. 

It hadn't taken her long to return to Denerim. Less than a day's travel, and good weather, too. She knew Cailan's schedule, knew where to find him and how to do so discreetly. The hardest part was slipping past the guards surrounding the castle. She'd been caught a few times and had to find other ways to get to the side of the palace. Once she did, though, the fun began. On the northwest side of the castle was the entrance to the kitchens. Just above the door, was quite a bit of ivy growing up the stone walls. A barrel to collect rainwater stood just beside the door, its lid attached when rain was not coming down. Always checking to make sure no one was about, Megara would climb atop the barrel and then begin scaling the wall by using the thick, sturdy vines. She had learned to be quick about it, the stones too offered plenty of footholds. Once she got up high enough, she could maneuver over to the rooftops. Shingles were certainly easier. Today was one of the easiest. It was dusk, the weather fair. After landing on the rooftop of the kitchens, she quickly tiptoped, hopped and leaped her way to the tower where Cailan's rooms were. It was great fun to be so high, looking over Denerim. She kept close to the roof, to ensure no one spotted her. When she reached the tower, she had a short climb on the vines to Cailan's room. There was a window just a few feet beside his bed, the glass never locked. Heavy curtains were in front of it, in the event someone was actually in his room. It had only happened once and she still hadn't been caught. Queen Anora had snuck into Cailan's apartments, rifling through his things for evidence of a mistress. When Megara had dropped down into the window, she'd heard her whispering to her maid to keep watch. She had pressed herself against the wall, thankful for those curtains. Cailan himself had caught Anora and they'd had quite a row. He had went so far as to hit her, the slap sounded light but Megara knew it had stung Anora's pride more than anything. Yet she was Queen and he was King, there was nothing she could do. After she had stomped out and Cailan had slammed his door, she'd slipped from the curtains to accost her lover. He was as pleased today to see her as he had been then. He was always surprised to see her, but always happy. 

Today, he gathered her in his arms, claiming her lips fiercely. He tore at her clothing, not even bothering with his own. Megara purred, whispering that he'd need to bar the door. 

"I don't give a damn if all of Thedas walks through that door, Megara, _I want you_ ," he had growled into her hair, tugging it out of the loose braid she had it in. 

It wasn't hard to succumb to his advances, his very touch set her senses ablaze and her heart was a fire like nothing she'd ever experienced, too. She was in tears as he grabbed her thighs, pulling her up to him and swiftly walking to the bed. She had to grab his side with her arms quickly, he had moved so fast. He pressed another hungry kiss on her lips before pushing off her to tear his own clothing away. He struggled with his breeches and Megara pulled in a burning, quick breath. Her chest was tight, her throat constricted. She was shivering all over, biting her lower lip in anticipation. 

Finally he had shed the last of his clothing, his lean body already beginning to glisten with sweat. He was completely hard, too; the fact that he also anticipated sex with her this much gave her reason to smile. He leaned down on the bed above her, sliding his arms under hers to grasp her shoulders. She could feel the tip of him press just slightly into her, she was already wet. Cailan stopped though and she opened her eyes to look at him. 

"What's wrong, darling? You're shaking and you're crying. Do you want me to stop," he asked, panic in his voice.

"No, no," she replied, quickly locking her legs around him so he wouldn't try to get up.

"Then why are you upset?" The tenderness in his voice only made the tears in her eyes spill over, dripping onto her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I don't know. I just...I love you so much Cailan. I do. I love you and it's amazing and it hurts and I don't want to lose you. Ever" Her words came out as a tumble, she was still shaking and trying to pull him further towards her.

Cailan leaned down, smiling and nuzzled her nose with his. "Megara Elizabeth Rialton, I love you. I love you and only you. I have never, never loved another woman as I do you. I would gladly cast Anora aside and take you for my wife if I could get away with it. But know this, now. You are the wife of my soul, you complete me. I will never let anyone take you from me. These are not just pretty words to a pretty girl I am trying to bed. I mean this. Do you hear me, love?" 

He said every word carefully, but fiercely. He had gripped her face with both hands, his eyes focused on hers. Megara's only answer had been to pull him into a kiss and use every ounce of her strength to pull him down and inside of her with her legs. He had gladly obliged, sliding in and out of her with need, she could feel him pulsing inside her but she kept her legs wound about him. Her nails raked his back with wanton abandonment, she didn't care who saw the scratches. He had bitten down onto her shoulder and focused solely on thrusting into her, filling both of their needs for intimacy. When his movements became more frantic, she pushed her hips up to meet him, so that he was grinding against her. She came quickly, her vision exploding into blackness; she moaned his name loudly, not caring who heard it. At the sound of her voice, he climaxed, spilling his seed into her and releasing her shoulder long enough to say her name, too.

They had stayed that way, after, holding onto one another tightly, not wanting to let go. At all the noise, a guard had barged into the unlocked room. "Your Majesty, I heard yelling!"

Cailan had barely turned to look at the man across his shoulder. "Indeed, I am yelling. And I intend to do more of it if you'd be so kind as to get the hell out of my room and stay out!"

The flustered guard had stared at Cailan and Megara open-mouthed, but stumbled backwards out again, shutting the door quietly. Chuckling deeply, Cailan had pulled out of Megara and laid beside her, kissing her collarbone softly. His boldness had not stopped there. He had skipped dinner in the great hall, ordering food brought up for them. He had refused anyone an audience and gruffly rebuffed any guards who dared to object. "I'm busy!" was all he had thundered at them. And indeed they had stayed busy. Besides stopping to eat, Cailan had taken her four more times that night, before dawn. The last had been the longest, Megara knew it had to have been hours that he had kissed and touched and thrust into her, before they had finally ridden out their pleasures and fallen into a nest of tangled, sweaty sheets and each other's arms to sleep at last, exhausted.

It was late morning when Queen Anora had managed to berate the guards into letting her pass. Megara had made to flee the bed, but Cailan had wrapped his arms around her. Lazily, he regarded his infuriated wife. "Something you need, Anora? I am far too tired from a night of love-making to slap you out of my private rooms this morning, so if you would be so kind as to vacate them on your own? No introductions are needed, as this surely doesn't come as a surprise."

Anora had stared at him, slack jawed and her face so bright red that Megara thought she'd explode. "I will not have this whore installed at my court to usurp me!" The Queen shouted, balling her fists up. It had been the wrong thing to say, Megara knew, even before she'd finished.

Cailan had flung out of the bed with such ferocity that Megara had yelped in terror. He had strode, naked, to the door, slamming and barring it. Anora had shrunk against the wall, terrified. Cailan grabbed her by the shoulders, slamming her against the wall. 

He shouted in her face, "You will not ever speak to her like that again! Do you hear me, Anora!? You may be Queen but you are a mabari piss excuse for a wife! But you are my wife and so help me if you ever breathe another word against her I will beat you to death and the moment I am a widow I will take her to wife and Ferelden will have a Queen that her King can love and actually get an heir from!!!" 

His rage was such that Megara was shaking in the bed, the sheet drawn up to her chin. Cailan released Anora violently, throwing her to the ground. He made to kick at her but Megara yelled out to stop him. The sound of her voice seemed to break whatever hold had come over him. He stopped, his shoulders sagging as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He walked over to the bed, slipping back under the sheets and into Megara's arms. She held him tightly as he wound his arms around her waist and rested his head against her chest. Megara still had a look of shock and fear on her face when Anora stood and stared at her. The look she gave Megara was something the mage would never forget.

After Anora had gone, Cailan had busied himself with making love, tenderly, to Megara, insisting she look into his eyes the whole time. He said her name a half dozen times, as if he was trying to convince her that he truly did love only her. When they'd finished, Cailan called for a bath and Megara told him about the dragon. He had been so instantly enthusiastic that she'd forgotten all about the incident with Anora. They bathed and broke their fast and Cailan plotted on escaping the castle without causing a ruckus.

"I'll have to take care of the morning's business of course. At midday, instead of riding out with Loghain, I will leave on my horse early and meet you just outside the gates. Then we shall go and we shall slay this dragon!" His bold enthusiasm reminded her that he was still sometimes a boy, eager to be the hero and save the day. It was only natural that his kingdom loved their golden boy King.

Although she had wanted to leave out the window per her usual, Cailan had insisted that Megara be escorted from the castle by one of his personal guards. She'd objected but he was insistent. She began to worry that he really was going to try and install her at court as his official mistress, just as Anora had accused. They could argue that point later, however.

Sitting atop her tall Antivan stallion who was stamping the ground impatiently, Megara worried that Cailan had perhaps pressed too hard on the issue of their relationship this morning. He was nearly an hour late and there was no sign of him. She leaned down and patted the horse's dark brown mane, soothing him. When she sat back up in her saddle, she saw dust flying and could hear the approaching sound of hoof beats thundering down the way. Grinning, she turned her horse's reins and clicked her tongue. He was only to eager to oblige and soon she and beast both were blazing down the dirt road.

Two hours later they'd reached the destination the old man had given her. Drawing her horse up, she surveyed the surroundings as Cailan jumped from his own horse. The hills and cliffs here were dark, Megara couldn't even remember the name of this place. The land had recently been destroyed in a forest fire. The earth was still charred, the trees withered and desolate. A very small pond was on the outskirts, just to the left of where they were. Cailan walked his horse over, putting him on a lead to drink and then coming back to Megara. She pulled one leg over, sitting side saddle for a moment. She was frowning at the landscape when she felt Cailan's hands on her thighs, rubbing the soft breeches she wore, gently tugging her off her horse. Smiling wickedly, she leaned over just enough to slide from her saddle and into his arms, slowly. Her own arms around his neck, she allowed gravity to pull her small frame down his slowly. She could feel him begin to harden against her, so pressed was her body against his. She kissed him lightly.

"We've a dragon to find and slay, darling, then you can ravish me all you want." She was eager to look for the fabled beast, to see if it was all she'd been told.

Cailan growled low in his throat, pulling her hair back and kissing her own throat. "Why can't I take you quickly, now?"

Megara sighed happily. His sexual appetite was nearly insatiable. It didn't bother her in the slightest, but she was ready for danger now, not lovemaking. However, she was slightly aroused by the thought of what lay ahead. 

"Tie the horse up, Cailan, quickly," she ordered, leaning back on her heels.

She watched with satisfaction as he made to obey her with haste. When he turned around, it took him a moment to find her. She had slipped from her pants only, leaning against a tree. Striding towards her with purpose, he had his breeches unlaced before he even made it to the tree. She pulled them down roughly, just enough to pull his cock from within them. She stroked him once, twice, hard. Not enough to hurt him. He grasped her arse and lifted her, pulling her down over him and then against the tree. She could feel the rough, smoked bark scratching against her back. It only took a few feverish thrusts before Cailan shuddered against her, spent. She kissed his forehead.

"Now, let's go kill ourselves a dragon!" He put her down, swaying slightly. _He must have came harder than I realized._ She leaned down, pulling her underclothes and pants back on, then her boots. She grabbed Maferath's Betrayal and checked to be sure she had enough potions in her side pack. Nodding at Cailan whose sword and shield were ready, they headed swiftly into the naked forest.

Half an hour later, the directions they'd been given were confirmed. They began to see carcasses and bones of large beasts littered about. Some were fresh, mauled so savagely that Megara couldn't identify what animal they'd been. All of them had been charred though. "Dragon," she murmured, looking at Cailan triumphantly. They trekked onwards, following the trail as silently as they could. 

A short distance later, they came into an open clearing. A cave was visible to the left opposite, dug out of the hillside. The smell was rancid, burnt. They were right where they needed to be, the dragon's lair. Megara closed her eyes and prepared her body, allowing the fibers of her being to radiant with magic, feeling it creep into her staff, illuminating her. It was a sensual, powerful feeling. She felt charged, ready for battle. She could sense Cailan preparing as well. She cast a Heroic Defense spell on him, then they paced into the clearing, watching for their prey.

The whole time, the lovers were unaware that they, instead, were the hunted. With a screaming roar, the dragon fell into the clearing, seemingly out of thin air, with no warning. It was dark green, larger than most houses in Denerim. Its scales were slimy and seemed to seem with some sort of pus or bile. The smell of the thing was enough to turn even a dwarf's stomach. It landed right afore them, causing them both to duck and roll out of the way of its first blast of fire, which the dragon wasted no time in emitting. 

Still crouched, Megara cast Cone of Cold at the dragon, hoping to freeze it enough for Cailan to begin his offense. The beast was too strong, though, the shards of ice cracked and fell from its body as it turned its massive head to bellow flames at her again. Cailan took the opportunity to strike at its wing, slicing just at the juncture where it joined the body. Screaming in agony, the dragon bellowed its rage and kicked a leg out at Cailan, knocking him back.

Gathering her magic, Megara released both a Blizzard and Chain Lightning at the dragon, finally stunning it. It shook its head, stamping and trying to bluster its way out of the range of the ice and lightning. She had to stop, reaching for a mana potion quickly, while the spells pelted the dragon. Popping off the lid with her fingernail, she threw the contents back into her throat and breathed deeply. The dragon slashed at her, she fired a shot of lightning back at it, circling the dragon as Cailan tried to distract the beast towards him. He managed to gash its chest badly, rolling backwards just before it breathed a rain of fire in retaliation. Megara tried to Petrify the dragon, but again it repelled her spell. She focused on raining lightning bolts at it while Cailan slashed and hacked at its legs. She managed to release a Tempest, but stumbled from the exertion. Cailan too was weakening. She sent a healing spell his way, focusing her magic to infuse his muscles with strength and energy. 

She tried another Petrify spell, buying them some time. While the great beast roared its frustration at being glued to the spot, Cailan leaped with his sword out, bringing it down into the flesh where the wing connected with its body. He hit the mark perfectly. Dark, slimy black blood spewed forth from the wound, the dragon's wing almost severed completely. It fell limply at the monster's side. The dragon shook its head in agony, the roar that emanated from its throat was deafening. Bolstered by this, Cailan made to land a hit at the dragon's throat, but missed. The beast caught him, it's teeth clamping down on his side. It shook him, tossing him to the side. Megara watched, stunned. She dropped her staff, ran towards Cailan, dodging the fire it spewed at her. Kneeling beside her love, she sobbed. He was bleeding profusely from his side, one of the dragon's teeth stuck in his flesh. Rather than remove it, she looked around desperately for somewhere to escape to. 

The dragon had spotted them, though. It shivered, gathering up to released an enormous blast of fire at the couple. Megara had never felt fear like this before. It was the single most powerful moment of emotion she'd ever experienced. Everything went quiet. She couldn't even hear her own heart, Cailan's scream, or the dragon's bellows. Her eyes were wide open, focused on this gangrene, deadly beast who was advancing, hobbling towards them to deliver a death blow. Everything stood still. Cailan was clutching at her, blood was soaking her but all she could see, all she could feel, was the dragon. It was fear and concentration. She could feel her magic tingling, in a new way. Something dark and deep within her. It was powerful, overwhelming. She had trouble sustaining it and controlling it. She knew only that she had to harness it to protect Cailan. _I must save Cailan._

In slow motion, as the dragon bent its neck, stretched towards them and released its fiery death sentence, she held her hand aloft, outstretched towards the beast. Her other hand clutched Cailan to her bosom, his face buried against her. She couldn't feel him though. She wasn't aware of anything but releasing this magic, stopping the dragon. As the fire spread through the air towards them, a great gust of blue green mist erupted from her fingertips, matching the fire foot by foot, in slow motion, then taking over the fire and finally, the dragon itself. Lightning erupted, a great boom deafened the forest, the ground shuddered and the dragon, such a great beast, screamed its death cry. Megara could see its eyes, see the fear she had felt moments ago resonating within that evil creature now, watch as its vile mouth closed, falling to the ground. Steam rose from the dragon's body, as well as a mist of the blue-green magic that she had released. It hung over the dragon, sifting about the forest air. Everything was still quiet in her head, until she blinked. 

Then she could feel Cailan again, realized how wounded he was. Desperately, she fumbled for the strongest health potion she possessed, lifting the sweet red liquid to his lips, coaxing him to drink it as he shivered and moaned in pain. No, not my sweet love, please Maker, no! She drew a mana potion out, swallowing it in one gulp and reached out to Cailan, trying to push healing magic into the fibers of his body, stave off the bleeding. She had never been much skilled in healing arts. She knew a few spells, but she had always focused on Primal magics. This was hard, it was terrifying. She was desperate to save this man, the only person who had ever loved her, whom she had ever cared for. The bleeding was staunched, finally, but Cailan was pale, his lips blue. He was delirious, murmuring about the kingdom, Duncan, calling out for Megara even as he was in her arms. She wasn't sure how to get him back to the horses, she'd never be able to carry him. That's when the panic hit her. Cailan would die, just as the dragon did, if she didn't get him back to Denerim. But how could she move him? She began to sob, then turned, frantically looking around the clearing for anyone. She screamed for help as she tried futilely time after time to reach a healing spell into Cailan. He was fading fast, too. Her sobs began to choke her, the blood rushing and pounding in her ears.

She didn't hear anyone approach. Arms roughly under her armpits, lifting her away, shoving her into someone. Orders issued from a familiar, cold voice. Loghain. He had followed them. Megara wretched herself from Loghain's guard's grip and spun around. The old man who'd given her the directions was shackled and standing near the edge of the fray. He looked as if he'd been tortured. Megara could barely protest when the guard holding him slit his throat, pushing the old man to the ground. Several mage healers from the Circle were there, huddled over Cailan, chanting. A Templar pushed Megara aside, marching over to Loghain. She hugged her arms tightly around her, her heart pounding fiercely. One of the healers stood, a bloody hand holding the tooth from the dragon that had been lodged in Cailan's side. Loghain snatched it, snarling. With a look of contempt, he threw it at Megara.

"Do you see what you have done, harlot! You have nearly killed the King! Is your foolish lust sated now? Are you happy!?" 

Loghain thundered at her and she cowered. She stepped back until she was on the edge of the clearing, tears dripping from her face. The guards had lifted Cailan up, carefully carrying him away. Megara stood, still, long after everyone had left. She looked over the clearing. The dead man, who had only wanted a few silvers. The dragon, slain by some strange magic she didn't know she had possessed. Cailan's blood staining the ground. It was all a mess, everything. It was her fault, too. She felt selfish and foolish. Idly, she began to walk out of the clearing, until she tripped over something on the ground. She landed on her knees and searched the dirt for the offending object. The dragon's tooth. Picking it up, there was blood and dirt and dragon spit on it. Sobbing, she tucked it into her pack and began making her way slowly back to the horses.

A year later, seeing a dragon land in front of her sent panic rushing through her veins. Alistair was standing in front of her, turned away from her. Her vision blurred.  
"Cailan," she cried out, strangled, and swayed. Alistair turned towards her to catch her as Kolgrim approached the dragon.  
The world went black and her head swam. She could hear everyone's voices but she couldn't see. She stumbled to the ground, crying out. She could feel hands lifting her up, hear people calling her name. She couldn't focus though. She couldn't do this again, she'd rather die than face another dragon...


	15. When It All Falls Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hiiiii lovelies! I am in such a state of self-loathing these days. Hence why updates are much more infrequent. Everything I write displeases me. Blah. Working on getting betas lined up for all my stories. Also always have the ever-helpful FalconHawk's assitance. If you still haven't read Rise of the Wardens, get on it. It's amazing.  
> **This chapter contains snippets from the game's dialogue, during the "Gauntlet" quest. I do not own any of this dialogue, nor any Bioware content per usual.

"When it all falls down  
And you know there's no way  
You can ever get out  
I know I should have cherished every second  
I step back, step back to another perspective  
And in my mind, my mind I know I've been wrong  
It's a feeling you've got, you're feeling so cold"  
Adelita's Way

 

***Update 2/25/14: Since everyone was so displeased with this chapter, I sucked it up and redid it. Let me know what you think. :)

 

**30:Dragon, 20th of Guardian**

She was only unconscious but a moment. When she came to, leaning into both Alistair and Morrigan's arms, she blinked rapidly. The dragon was gone. Kolgrim and his band of misfits were gone. Had she imagined it all? She shook her head slightly, as if to clear the cloud of confusion and fear that dulled her usually sharp senses. She stood, wavering only a moment.  
"I'm fine, I'm sorry. I was merely stunned. Don't like big lizards, ha ha," she laughed it off. Her comrades didn't look convinced at all. She still felt dizzy and disoriented, but she was determined to keep everyone from asking questions. She strode off in the direction of the entrance in the side of the cliff without a further word. She had to keep her eyes on the doorway, she could hear the dragon now, somewhere above them, growling and rumbling. Small rocks clattered around them and Megara was shaking with trepidation. She practically ran into the safety of the rock entrance.  
Once everyone had entered and allowed their eyes to adjust to the dim light, they looked around. There was quite a bit of dust in the air, it was obvious no one had entered the temple in many, many years. There was an air of something...magical or forbidden hanging all around the temple. Megara knew, just from walking around and reaching out with her connection to the Fade, that they were in a place of very, very powerful magic. It pulled at her, leaving her senses ablaze and her skin tingling. She completely forgot about the dragon and walked around the interior with a sense of both wonder and foreboding.  
Zevran walked up behind her, placing his hands on her hips and tucking his chin into the crook of her shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss into her neck.  
"What is it, my charming enchantress? You look as if you yourself have been charmed."  
She smiled slightly before leaning back against him. "This place, this temple. I am sure the ashes are here, but there's something else, too. I just don't know what yet..." Megara answered him and trailed off.  
Zevran made to reply, but they were interrupted by a call from Leliana. Twisting around a few stone columns and corner of a hallway, they stood at the end of a long great hall, massive columns set into the thick stone walls. The walls were carved low on the ground with simple designs. At the end of the hall, however, was a tall door guarded by...some sort of spirit.  
Alistair seemed to visibly recoil from the effects of the temple. "What is this place? It's different from the rest of the temple." *  
Both Megara and Morrigan looked like frightened cats, their hairs on their arms stood on end and both were tense and frowning as the group made way to the spirit, cautiously.  
She squinted at the spirit, but kept her distance. His silver armor was too shiny, his aura too powerful and uncomfortable for her. The others seemed to be comfortable with him, engaging him in talk. Megara and Morrigan hung back, listening, their arms crossed. She could feel her magic twitching deep within her body, her defenses at the ready.  
Warden Tara was introducing herself and the rest of them. It would seem the spirit was one of the original Disciples of Andraste. His voice was rich, echoing eerily in the room.  
"It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting have I been here, and shall I remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea..."*  
"So he has been here for quite a very long time," Morrigan whispered to her.  
"Indeed, and he is very powerful. The question is whether he is friend or foe," Megara murmured back, watching warily as Tara and Leliana spoke enthusiastically with the spirit.  
He was talking now of his love and vow to Andraste and Megara idly thought that Leliana would explode from fervor. He seemed angry when told about the cultists claiming that the dragon outside was Andraste. While she did not believe that Andraste existed in a dragon, she was very curious to know how Kolgrim had managed to stay that dragon from attacking them all.  
"And what of those that follow you?"* The spirit was overlooking everyone now and Megara felt an instant sheen of cold sweat encompass her body under her clothing. No. No, this cannot happen here. Not now...  
The spirit looked at Alistair first, who stood, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. "Alistair, knight and Warden...you wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blows. You wonder, don't you, if you should have died and not him."*  
Megara sucked in her breath, opening her eyes wide to gaze pityingly at Alistair. He looked as if he'd been floored by an ogre at that moment. Megara wanted to go to him, but not even Tara moved to interrupt the spirit. She watched as Cailan's younger brother bit his lip, tears glistening on his eyes. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to punch the spirit for essentially torturing her friend.  
"I...yes. If Duncan had been saved and not me, everything would be better. If I'd just had the chance..." *Remorse flooded through Alistair's every feature as well as pain and the longing for a dead friend, or in his case, a father figure. Megara shook with anger at the spirit as he turned his attentions to Leliana.  
"You...why do you say that the Maker speaks to you, when all know that the Maker has left? He spoke only to Andraste. Do you believe yourself her equal?"*  
"I never said that..."* Leliana began to angrily retort but he interrupted her.  
"In Orlais you were someone. In Lothering you feared you would lose yourself, become a drab Sister and disappear. When your Brothers and Sisters of the Cloister criticized you for what you professed, you were hurt but you also reveled in it. It made you special. You enjoyed the attention...even if it was negative."* The spirit's condescending glare bore down on the bard and Megara gasped. Had Leliana made up everything she'd said to Tara and Alistair about her visions? She didn't have time to consider it further before the spirit had finished questioning Tara, Zevran and Morrigan and turned his attentions to her.  
"And you, mage, rogue and liar in one. You keep secrets in such multitude you can scarcely remember them all. But you do remember some things. You remember your affair and the children you bore from it. Do you regret giving them up? Do you regret abandoning them?"  
Her face burned white hot with fury, the only thing keeping her in check was Morrigan's hand on her arm, magic pulsing through her fingers to try and stave off Megara's fury. She could feel the others' gazes on her, the audible gasps, the disappointed sighs. Her eyes burned with tears. The spirit shook his head.  
"The way is open..." *  
Not waiting another moment, she wretched herself away from Morrigan and tore through the door. She hadn't made it very far before she felt rough hands on her arms, slamming her against the wall. Alistair's eyes bored into her own, hard and unforgiving. He knew. He had finally pieced it together with the spirit's questioning. The others circled around, their anger and disbelief palpable.  
"How...could you!?" Alistair roared, slamming her against the stone wall. Her head rang and she tried to push off from him. When he tightened his grip instead she lost all control.  
"You were much more gentle, Alistair, the last time you pushed me against a wall. But let's not dally on that, shall we? No, since you are determined I shall give you what you want, as I did before. Yes, I had an affair with Cailan, your brother. You're a royal bastard and a royal idiot all wrapped in one." He had physically shrank from her in horror then. He hadn't told anyone, from the looks of it even Tara, about his parentage. But oh, she knew. She'd always known. And if he wanted to bring everything down, well she would take him with her. She continued, with venom dripping in her voice. She took a step forward, bringing herself close enough to him to count the freckles in his eyes and feel his breath on her face. "You never pieced it together. You'd seen me dozens of times before, likely heard the rumours, too. Cailan never kept me a secret. Anora hated me. All of Ferelden hated me, they thought I was the reason there was no heir. But you want to know something, son of Maric? There was no heir because Anora is cold and barren. Because Cailan didn't love her, he loved me and I loved him. Until...until he got me with not one but two children. You royals are all alike. You take and you take until there is simply nothing left. Well there was nothing left of me when Cailan spurned me for getting pregnant. I bore his twins, your half siblings to be exact, in a tiny aravel in the Brecilian forest on my own. I gave them up because I was told to. I kept silent, I did my duty to this country in keeping quiet, in my silent torture. I never said a word about the children. I never bothered Cailan again. I told no one, I never pressed for them to be given the Crown. Because I valued this country's peace over my own life, over my own heart. Yet you would persecute me for even that, would you not, hmm? There. Now you have the truth of it. Want me dead now, too? Go ahead. Here, I'll help you." She withdrew Dragon's Tooth before anyone could utter a single word, pressing the blade flush against her throat. She was shaking. She could already feel blood trickling down her throat, the blade was that sharp.  
"Go ahead, Alistair, do it! Don't be a coward, put blade to skin and be done with it!" She shouted now, the blade pressing closer to her life's blood, she could feel her magic flaring and heating under her skin. Her hand was slippery with it, sticking.  
The silence was deafening. No one seemed to breathe or move. The tension was like flammable static, drawn so tight over the group, over Alistair and Megara that one move would bring the entire thing crashing down upon their ears. Alistair was gazing at her with a mixed look of contempt and confusion. She just wanted it to be over now. She wanted to close her eyes and welcome the darkness and not have to pretend or hurt anymore. She was so...tired.  
In one fluid, fell movement, Alistair reached out, taking the blade and hitting her with the hilt. She nearly got her wish for darkness, her senses spun out of control as she came down to her knees from the blow.  
"Get up!" Alistair thundered at her. Hesitating only a moment, she stood, one eye welted nearly shut from his strike. She could taste blood in her mouth, feel it thundering in her ears.  
"You...you repulse me. But we are here to save Arl Eamon. We press forward. I would see you dead or in chains or banished after we retrieve the Ashes. I care not which," he spat at her, before striding off into the next room.  
She looked around at the others, stunned. Leliana was crying openly, Tara was emanating the same kind of emotions as Alistair, Morrigan looked amused and perhaps the worst of all, was that Zevran turned his back the moment she looked at him and strode off. She waited until the others had cleared the room before walking after them. In the second room, were eight ghosts standing before stone archways. At the far end of the room was yet another massive door. She watched as everyone picked a ghost and began conversing with them. After a moment it was apparent that these spirits held riddles. Only missing one riddle and having to engage the hostile spirit, they proceeded successfully to the next room.  
Lined up, were spirits from their past. Megara's entire being crumbled when she saw Cailan towards the end. Tara's father stood in the middle, she looked as if she wanted to run into his arms. A woman that Megara figured to be Marjolaine stood before a tearful Leliana, Duncan before Alistair and an Antivan woman before Zevran but oddly enough there was no one for Morrigan, who only scowled and rounded the corner to go to the next room. Megara walked on shaking legs to come before Cailan. Could you hug a spirit? Could you touch them, reach out to them? She would give her very soul for Cailan to hug her one more time.  
She was shivering, hard, when she came to stand before him. Her entire body was shaking and she didn't bother to try to hide her sobs. She didn't care who saw them. She reached out towards Cailan's spirit, her hand passing through him like smoke. She ducked her head down, letting the tears fall.  
"I'm sorry, my love. For everything. I wish I could hold you, comfort you..." he began sorrowfully.  
"Is it really you, Cailan?" She whispered the words, afraid if she spoke too loud he would disappear.  
"I'm here, Megara. But I'm not. I just came to tell you to stay strong and to forgive yourself. And if...if you could find it possible, to forgive me as well."  
She wasn't sure how a spirit could look any sadder, any more desolate. But Cailan did. He held his hand out, a small locket, a real locket clasped in his blue-white hand. She looked at him, confused.  
"Take it. It is very hard for a spirit to make contact with the living world. I won't be able to hold it for long." As she reached out for the locket, she found, for the briefest moment, she could feel his hand. It was ice cold, but it was Cailan's hand, Cailan's touch. After she took the necklace, clasping it as tightly as she could, he seemed to struggle. Fearful he would leave, she startled.  
"Shhh," he soothed her, raising his hand to her swollen eye. He pursed his lips, his brow creasing. But he brushed his fingers against her face and she felt it. He cupped her face, whispering "I love you."  
"Ohhh," was all that escaped her. She tried to quickly reach up to grab his hand, but he shook his head sadly. He was beginning to evaporate before her very eyes.  
"Alistair," he commanded, a sense of urgency in his voice. She turned to see that everyone else's spirits had already gone, but they all stood a short distance away. Alistair stepped forward as his brother pleaded. "Brother. I must entreat to you, watch over my Meg. Please. No, Alistair, no. My time is short and I am slipping away. I loved her, Alistair, much as you love Tara. Do not hold that against her. I was wrong in my ways but you must help me to make them right, now. You are the last son of Maric. Keep Megara safe. Help her find my children, please. Alistair, promise me."  
Alistair looked worse than when the spirit had accused him of leaving Duncan. He shook his head, looking down at the floor. Megara knew he was going to refuse. He was wasting what little time she had with Cailan!  
"I will do as you ask, brother. But only as a testament to our father and to Duncan's memories." Alistair's voice was bitter.  
Cailan's spirit sighed. "Thank you. Megara, I love you. When you find our children..." But he was gone before he finished. Megara reached out, desperately.  
"Cailan!" she shrieked, taking off at a run, screaming his name. She was in the next room before anyone could catch her. Morrigan was surrounded by spirit copies, demons to be exact, of themselves.  
She hadn't detected them with her magic because she'd been so distraught. Stifling a sob, she reached for her staff. Battling a vision of herself was strange but also soothing. She felt like she was killing her inner demons, in a satisfying and physical way. If only it were that easy...  
Once the demon versions of themselves had dissipated, they pushed open the heavy stone door to the next room. Lying within was a vaulted ceiling so high they couldn't see the top. Mist swirled ominously throughout the room and hung about the ceiling, obscuring the view of the columns and carvings. The lighting was bleak and the air held a smell of foreboding and terror. Stalactites hung from the walls, some of them dripping moisture onto the stone floor. Just inside the door was a cavern in the middle, jagged edges, spiraling down into pure blackness. The crater was gigantic, like a dragon had burrowed down into the eerie depths. The air was also damp, the moisture weighing heavy on Megara's lungs. She looked about, tentatively. They were clustered together, but away from one another. She noticed large, square stones around the hole, carved in some strange fashion. There was no visible way across, just the massive hole in the floor.  
"Perhaps the temple has caved in on itself after the years of being untouched," Leliana murmured.  
"Well, we must press forward, somehow," Tara replied shortly. The tension in the air was even more palpable and suffocating than the dampness.  
Megara was the first to break away from the group. She paced to the other side of the room, around one curve, to see if there was a hidden switch or lever to release a bridge from above of sorts. Running her hands across the stone wall, it was shockingly cold. She wasn't finding anything. Leliana was studying some of the glyphs carved into the wall directly beside the entrance, Morrigan was frowning and Alistair was wandering aimlessly around the room. It was while he paced around like an oaf that Megara noticed something.  
"Alistair, be still!" She shouted, her voice echoing on and again from both the endless cavern and ceiling. The others startled and glared at her, but soon stopped once they realized what she had discovered. Alistair was standing upon one of the square blocks of stone. Megara had felt it before she saw it, magic pulled at her and she'd turned to look. It practically fizzled in the air.  
The silhouette of a stone bridge was visible towards the middle of the hole, only just so. It was pale and translucent, but the other quickly pieced together what was going on. Everyone dashed for a stone. There were eight stones and only six of them. As they trampled on the stones, the bridge flickered and disappeared in different parts. It seemed there was four pieces to the bridge, to connect to the other side. But they moved with no strategy over the stones, everyone refusing to speak to the other, roaming over the triggers and causing the magic bridge to flicker like a light show.  
"Alright, stop!" Morrigan shouted in irritation. "We must work together if we're to exit this foul place. Move one at a time, until the entire thing is solid. I will call out. No, Alistair don't even start to argue with me, I've no patience for your idiocy at this point."  
Morrigan proceeded to bully and order them about until they'd managed to move here and there over the stones until the entire bridge was illuminated, solidly. It appeared still shimmery, like it was only possibly stable enough to pass over.  
"Now what happens if it collapses?" Leliana questioned, crossing her arms.  
Megara could feel the magic shift, could feel the pull from the bridge in a different way. "No, it's complete. This was the third test of the Gauntlet that the spirit mentioned. We can pass now." To prove her point, she simply walked around Zevran, giving him and the others a wide berth and then striding with purpose across the bridge. Her heart was in her throat the entire time, but she made herself appear brave and indifferent. It paid off, as the bridge stayed solid as they all walked across it safely.  
The final room was a stark contrast of the cold, damp one they'd just been in. This room was hot, dry. Likely from the flames just a few yards away, burning tirelessly, licking the floor and up the walls, all the way across. They were several feet high, with absolutely no way of getting around them. Megara and Morrigan both instantly tried ice spells. It was as if they merely blown air. They could see stone steps leading up high, presumably to the ashes.  
"These flames are magic," Morrigan seethed. No one spoke or made a move.  
Alistair was leaning against a small altar, just inside the door, frowning. He began idly tracing the dust off the altar while everyone else glowered at the flames. "Heyyyy!" He began furiously rubbing the dust off the altar. "There's something here, something carved into the stone."  
No one spoke, still, but everyone circled around him, still keeping their distance from one another. Alistair read the incantation aloud: "Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar, be born again in the Maker's sight."*  
"Well what the hell does that mean!?" Megara was tired of the games, sick of this Gauntlet. She wasn't an overly religious person so begin with and she certainly didn't believe in the Maker. She kept her Dalish beliefs close to heart. She wanted to be done with these blasted tests and head home.  
"I think, I think we must remove our armor to pass through," Leliana said reverently. She seemed in a trance of some sort. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and she breathed deeply. She gently shoved Alistair away from the altar and began removing her robes and boots. In just a few moments, she was bare but for her smallclothes. Her body was pale, even in the heat she had gooseflesh. Megara watched as the bard began praying to the Maker as she passed through the flames, hands outstretched, head tilted back towards the ceiling.  
Once she had completely passed through, her armor and belongings disappeared from the altar and materialized on her body. At that same moment, the spirit who had originally guarded the entrance walked through the door behind them.  
"You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet, ; you have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, Pilgrim. Approach the sacred Ashes." The spirit's voice was deep and booming. Leliana was visibly crying, her joy and fervor for her beliefs obvious. The spirit turned and exited the door and Leliana turned to the rest of them.  
"Well, seeing as how you're not wearing much anyways, maybe you should go next," Alistair sniped at Morrigan.  
The witch chuckled, but it was a laugh filled with spite. "You think I fear removing my clothing or passing through flames, bastard?" She laughed again, moving to the altar. Everyone else shrank away but Megara. She stayed near the altar, transfixed by her friend. Morrigan set her staff down first, then removed her boots deftly. She then wiggled from her pants, Megara noticed how supple and lean her body was. Megara laughed softly as she watched Morrigan pull several daggers from seemingly out of nowhere as she removed her pants. Even her underwear were black. It amused Megara to no end to see Alistair try to avoid looking at the witch, whose top came away to reveal firm, ample breasts. Looking over her shoulder, she shot a glance at Alistair and said, "Satisfied," before passing swiftly through the flames as if it were natural. Tara's face was dark and hard as she watched both the exchange and Alistair's reaction.  
Once Morrigan had cleared the flames, Tara quickly removed her gear, trying to hide her body as much as possible. Megara noticed she had quite a few freckles on her skin as Tara dashed through the flames as swiftly as she could.  
Not surprisingly, Zevran undressed with both speed and deftness. He was used to removing his clothing at a moment's notice. His dark, taut muscles didn't make Megara's breath hitch though, she was still distracted by having seen Cailan again. Her heart was full of mourning, once again.  
After the rogue had passed through, Megara took her turn. She too, wore no band over her breasts as Morrigan hadn't. She couldn't help but hear Alistair's deep breath behind her as she removed the last of her clothing and the clearing of his throat. Any other time, she'd have enjoyed the attention but now, she faced the flames. She stopped short of them, feeling the pure heat radiate towards her naked body. She was worried she wouldn't pass through unhindered. She didn't believe in the Maker and here she was, in the temple of a god she didn't trust in. Would he strike her down in spite? She reached her hand out towards the flames, tentatively. A spiral twisted and turned, catching her hand, searing her flesh. She roared with pain, fleeing backwards. Her hand didn't seem visibly burned, but she had felt it.  
"What is the matter with you," Alistair demanded. "Go on so we can all get through, the Ashes are near!"  
"I can't! It burned me, the fire!" She turned to look at him with fear, holding her hand and forgetting to cover herself. She was staring down at her hand, unaware that the warrior's eyes were roving her body, although unwillingly.  
"Megara you're just psyching yourself out, it's fine. You went through the Gauntlet with the rest of us. Now go." He tried to turn her by the shoulders and push her by the small of her back towards the flames. She buckled her knees in response, dragging her heels.  
"What's wrong!?" Tara shouted over the roaring flames.  
"She's afraid!" Alistair shouted back. He shook his head, raising his arms. "What do you want me to do? I'm just going to go through, I'm not waiting on her."  
Maric's son strode over to the altar, removing his armor and piling it atop Megara's. He started to stride with purpose through the flames but something stopped him. He could hear Cailan's last plea, echoing in his ears. he swore and looked over at Megara, who was standing transfixed a few feet from the fire, grasping her hand in fear.  
"Just get her!" Tara shouted.  
Megara almost didn't notice that Alistair had grabbed her arms, pulling her towards the flames. She tried to pull away in protest, but he grabbed her other arm, lifting her up, her body squashed against his chest. She could feel him harden as her bare breasts were crushed against his chest and he hauled her towards the flames. He glared though and she squirmed to free herself. He's going to kill me... She screamed as they passed through the flames, where Alistair unceremoniously dumped her on the ground and strode away without another word. She cried out when she hit the ground, clothed once more. She was stunned. The flames hadn't burnt her!  
The others had already started up the stone staircase as she gaped at the flames again, shocked that the Maker himself hadn't struck her down. Finally, she turned on her palms and pushed herself up, hurrying to catch up with the others. Pounding up them, her calves and thighs burning with the exertion, she came to a halt. There, at the top of the staircase, was a statue of Andraste, towering over them, a single flame lit in her hand. The air around it crackled and popped with magic, she could feel the pull of the Fade strongly, but in a way she had never felt it before. Her chest felt heavy, odd...but not necessarily in a bad way.  
Morrigan stood a few steps down, seated against the side of the staircase, a very bored look on her face. Tara and Alistair were standing just before the Urn, where the ashes were. Leliana, was staring open-mouthed up at the statue, silent tears running down her face. Finally, the bard spoke softly, "I never dreamed I would lay eyes on the Urn of Sacred Ashes...I...I have no words to express." *  
Silently, Megara watched as Tara pulled a small, leather pouch from the inside of her jacket. She pulled it open and nodded at Leliana, who, with shaking hands, took a small pinch of the Ashes and placed them into the pouch. Their quest, was finally complete. They could heal the Arl now.

They exited the temple, single file, to a dreary evening. The sun was beginning to set, just slightly. Moments after they walked free, they were accosted by Kolgrim and his band of cultists. He began to rage at them, screaming that they'd defied Andraste and him. Megara was weary, she wasn't sure she could handle a full blown battle with a powerful foe and a full band of his accomplices. She was also worried, for everyone else was exhausted, too; both emotionally and physically.  
Alistair removed his sword, bending his knees and shouting at Kolgrim to come at him. Tara then held up her shield and pulled her sword free as the rest of them made ready to battle. Megara wasn't sure how this would turn out and she looked around for somewhere to escape or, at the very least, hide. In her distraction, she was hit full force with the shield of one of Kolgrim's followers. She fell to the ground, full on her back. Pain radiated from her body. The burly man brought his sword down with both arms and Megara barely maneuvered out of the way in time. She rolled a second time, throwing a fire spell from her fingertips at the warrior. She could vaguely hear swords clashing and shout echoing in the background and then, much to her dismay, the roar of the dragon. She scooted backwards on the rocky ground, trying to scramble up. The warrior kicked out at her, his arms and sword were too short to properly reach her. The blow landed on her thigh and she growled in pain. She didn't have any lyrium potions left, either. She managed to free her staff and grasped it with both hands; she brought it in a sweeping arc, taking the man's knees out from under him. He fell backwards and she quickly brought herself up, drawing what little magic she had left up into her being, sweeping the staff around and releasing a fire bomb at him before he could completely get up. At the moment the flames exploded and engulfed the warrior, her worst nightmare came to fruition. The dragon, now incensed, dropped down from its cliff into the clearing, roaring its displeasure. One of its giant paws crushed Kolgrim, she could hear his bones crushing and snapping in a sickening symphony even from where she stood transfixed. The man she had just killed was screaming in agony, in his death throes, burning alive.  
Kolgrim's cultists now stopped engaging her team and fled towards the temple again. Their mistake. The dragon stretched out its neck, it's entire, scaled body shivering in anticipation as it opened its great, gaping jaws to release a gale of flames. Three of the cultists were caught in the blue-white flames and fell down, screaming. One rolled down the hill back towards the dragon. It snatched the man up with its black teeth, shaking it and tossing the unfortunate man aside.  
The distraction had, however, allowed them some time. Morrigan had been focusing and concentrating on a massive spell which she now released, a furious blizzard raining down on the draining, huge chunks of ice pelting the beast, cutting into its scales and hitting its head. It bellowed in pain, stamping about. Alistair thrust up with his great sword at one of the dragon's legs, while trying to dance between them and keep from getting crushed. He was tired, though, Megara could see and he was stumbling.  
Still she stood, frozen in fear as her allies fought desperately against the beast. She tried, in vain, to find the source of power she had used to slay the dragon which had nearly killed Cailan. It was gone, she could only find the small reserve of magic welled up deep within her, languishing in her exhaustion. So she unsheathed her dagger, Dragon's Tooth. It began to glow, ominously. She felt something then, finally! Dashing across the landscape, she dodged the dragon's fiery breath and ran with every bit of her strength towards the beast. Fear nearly froze her at the last minute. She could hear Cailan's cry from when the dragon nearly killed him in her mind. Shaking it off, she slipped under the beast. She landed on her back again, having miscalculated. It stamped and screamed above her, trying to fight off her friends. She lay still then, taking Dragon's Tooth in both of her hands, holding it aloft and humming, begging, pleading with her magic to come through. Her body began to heat, she felt a sudden surge of magic and she pressed herself up by her shoulders at the exact moment the monster's chest came above her head. With something of an inhuman strength, she plunged the dagger upwards, pushing, heaving through the scales, the skin and the putrid flesh, to find the dragon's heart. Her arms with rigid with the exertion and she was covered in dragon blood and guts. But the dagger seemed to help her press on, glowing furiously as she got closer to the heart of the best. And then there it was. A twisted, black organ beating with a fiery red ember at its core. Waist high in the dragon's flesh as it absolutely cried in pain, she brought Dragon's Tooth down into the tough muscle of the heart, sundering it. Burning blood splashed forth and she shot back in pain, releasing the dagger. The dragon fell away to its side, finally dead. The ground shook as it landed. Megara gasped for breath, trying desperately to fill her lungs with air.  
Finally, sweet silence. She managed to bring herself to stand, wobbling on tired legs. She stunk, horribly but supposed she should be thankful that the blood and bile was drying quickly, although it would definitely stick. her chest heaved as she looked around her. Everyone was accounted for. Everyone seemed unhurt for the most part. Everyone was alive.  
They had the Ashes now. They stood outside the temple, a light rain pattering on the wreckage they'd wrought. Their enemies had been dispatched finally but the day's events had taken such a serious toll on the group. No one was speaking to each other. The revelations, the exposed secrets and lies seemed to draw down the house of cards on their heads. Everyone was seething with hurt, anguish and betrayal. Their bonds were frayed, possibly severed. The sorry group trudged back down the mountain, shoulders sagging, tears mixing with the rain. No one spoke.  
When they finally reached Sten's camp, Leliana threw herself into his surprised arms. He patted her absently, but detached the hysterical bard all the same. He seemed genuinely confused by everyone's defeated demeanor. When he asked Tara if they had the ashes, she simply replied yes and moved past him.  
Automatically, they silently constructed their tents as the rain increased, the winds howling a baleful song, thunder shaking the ground and lightening illuminating their victorious but beaten camp. The mage, the bard, the assassin and the Wardens each climbed wearily into separate tents without a word spoken. Frowning, Sten took the first watch as the storm raged around them and more importantly, within them.

*Excerpts from Dragon Age Origins, dialogue.

Lords and ladies, this was a tough chapter to write. It's a bit shorter than my recent ones but it's so heavy. So full of pain and hurt. I literally couldn't bear to go on. I know many people think fiction, especially fan fiction is silly, but I take stories seriously. I cried quite a bit while writing this chapter. I hope you liked it, or loathed it, rather. Please let me know what you think. Our heroes are quite broken and I'm interested to see what you think will happen from here. Thank you all for the follows and favourites and messages!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Excerpts from Dragon Age Origins, dialogue.
> 
> Lords and ladies, this was a tough chapter to write. It's a bit shorter than my recent ones but it's so heavy. So full of pain and hurt. I literally couldn't bear to go on. I know many people think fiction, especially fan fiction is silly, but I take stories seriously. I cried quite a bit while writing this chapter. I hope you liked it, or loathed it, rather. Please let me know what you think. Our heroes are quite broken and I'm interested to see what you think will happen from here. Thank you all for the follows and favourites and messages!


	16. Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: 'Ullo lovelies! Here lies the next chapter. Poor Megara. I kick her about ever so much. Someone asked me about the "soundtracks" that I have for these chapters. What I am listening to is usually very reflective of what I write, if you will. Today, I listened to both "Cities In Dust" by Everlove and the soundtrack to Sweeney Todd (Depp/Carter version). Pretty please review? 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I been thinking flowers,
> 
> Maybe daisies.
> 
> To brighten up the room.
> 
> Don't you think some flowers,
> 
> Pretty daisies,
> 
> Might relieve the gloom?
> 
> Oh wait...
> 
> Love, wait."
> 
> Helena Bonham Carter, Sweeney Todd "Wait"

**30:Dragon, 21st of Guardian**

Morning dawned bright in the makeshift camp. Golden light tinged with a rosy hue, seeped into the quiet, slumbering camp. The sky warmed, a cascade of brilliant colours. The tents were clothed in it, morning's dew clinging to the cloth, grass and trees. And sadness, also, clung to the tents; to the camp itself. As the sun exposed the camp to the new day, the inhabitants were faced with the exposure of all of their lies.

Megara stirred in her sleep; waking was a struggle. She had been cold and hadn't rested well. She would blame it on the weather but she knew she was used to Zevran in her bed. Getting dressed was a chore. She'd had to burn her other clothes, the stench of dragon guts would never have faded. She nor anyone else had bothered to skin any hide from the dragon. It would all be left to the vultures, as would Dragon's Tooth, sunk deep into the heart of the creature. It felt appropriate for all the heartache it had caused her.

She dressed in simple leathers, her only other set of clothing. They were dark brown and an unremarkable emerald colour. Her hair she brushed into a high ponytail, then braided the rest. Then there was the locket Cailan had given her. It was a silver, delicate thing. She pulled her other locket, which Cailan had give her years ago, to the new chain. It held four wisps of golden hair-a strand from herself, Cailan and the twins. But what of them? How would she even begin to find them? Would Loghain not try to assassinate them? There were so many questions and so much heartache. She was full of regret.

Finally, she slipped from her tent and was surprised to find Sten towering in front of her. His arms were crossed, a look of disgust etched on his fine face.

Startled, Megara took a step back, frowning. "Good...morning, Sten..."

"Leave." he uttered just one word, but the command was heavy. So heavy that Megara instantly knew all he meant.

"What...why do you wish for me to leave?"

"You have no honour. Leave." He stood still as a stone, as a castle forged in ages past, unmovable.

She furrowed her brow, staring at him. She was trying to decide what to say when Tara and Alistair both approached ; though from opposite sides of the camp.

"What's going on?" Tara demanded, placing her hand soothingly on Sten's arm.

"He has asked, or rather, demanded, that I leave," Megara said, watching Tara for her reaction. The older Warden looked shocked but not angered.

Alistair, surprisingly, was the one to bluster from anger and interrupt in her defense.

"Leave? Why should you want her to go, Sten? She's deceived and betrayed everyone but you..."

"She has no honour and her soul is dark. She is full of lies and is not to be trusted." The Qunari kept his stance, glaring at Megara for all she was worth.

"You want to speak of betrayal and deceit, your Highness!?" She spat back at Alistair, fury creasing her brow.

The heated argument drew the rest of the others, from their tents. Leliana was barely clothed, her short, auburn locks were sticking out in disarray. She looked thoroughly confused and still half-asleep. Zevran was dressed in full armor but looked worn and tired. Morrigan was the only one dressed and looking like she'd had a good night's rest.

"Isn't it a bit early to incite a war amongst ourselves," Morrigan quipped, glaring at the lot of them.

"I didn't lie, Megara! You..." Alistair began to fire back at her but she refused to allow him to finish.

"Oh no? Omitting the fact that you're Maric's son and Cailan's brother sounds like a pretty big fucking lie to me!" She was yelling now, she had no idea why he could get her so riled up. She thought that truly she just ought to pack her things and leave. She owed no one here anything, just her life....

"And omitting that you were Cailan's whore and had two children with him is an even bigger lie!" They were in each others' faces now.

Everyone looked uncomfortable, but Megara refused to back down. Her eyes were drawn to slits. She was furious. "At least you're off the hook for the throne, you whiny braggart!" She threw the last insult back at him, her fists clenched at her side.

"Enough!" Tara yelled at the top of her lungs, pushing them apart. She was in tears, her brown eyes bloodshot from stress.

"I have never felt so betrayed in all my days, all my life. This team I have worked so hard to assemble is full of liars and I cannot stand it. We have a much bigger purpose to attend to. I cannot deal with everyone's hidden agendas when I have to fight both a Blight and a civil war!" Tara paused to take a deep breath.

"I don't know that I can trust any of you, any longer. But I will tell you this...I depart for Redcliffe Castle today, to save Arl Eamon. If you choose to come with me, any of you, I want no more squabbling. No more secrets. We work together or there will be no more Ferelden." The warrior woman stalked off without another word to take down her tent. The rest of them stood silent, shocked at her outburst and unsure of how best to proceed.

Morrigan drifted off first, then Zevran. But still, Sten stood with his arms folded, staring at Megara for all the world as if he could make her dissipate with his glare.

"So you will not leave?" Sten asked, dogged in his pursuit of her banishment.

"No, I suppose I shall not," she said wearily, surprised at herself for such an answer when all she truly did want to do was leave.

"Hmph." Sten uttered barely a mutter before he turned on his large heel to speak with Tara.

By the time Megara had packed her things and readied her horse, Sten had left. Tara made the excuse that he went in search of his blade, but she knew better. She offered to leave instead, but Tara had only shaken her head, sadly. She contemplated leaving anyways.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**30:Dragon, 22nd of Guardian**

The trip to Redcliffe was painfully quiet. When they reached the village, Megara informed the others she would not go to the Castle. Morrigan announced her intention to stay back as well. When Tara tried to protest, she simply shrugged her off. As they were all leaving, Zevran hung back, leaning in to whisper in Megara's ear.

"I doubt Anora will want her son's murderer in their midst, anyways. You know, I thought you a tad cold-hearted, maybe like me, before; but that I know you are a mother and still killed the boy...I can be sure you have no heart at all."

The rogue strode away, leaving Megara shivering and crying silent tears. Although winter was winding down, she felt colder than she had in quite a very long time. She didn't understand why, of all people, he was more wroth with her than everyone else.

She felt Morrigan link her arm through her own. She hadn't heard her approach.

"Come on, let's go get a drink." Morrigan did not ask, simply pulled her in the direction of Redcliffe village's tavern.

xxxx

Sitting at a quiet table, Megara and Morrigan allowed Bella, the tavern's proprietor, to pour them both mugs of warm, spiced mead. Lloyd, the former owner, had died in the Battle of Redcliffe.

"Can you leave the jug, please?" Megara smiled wearily at Bella.

"Rough day, huh?" Bella set the hot earthen jug on the table. "Careful, it's pretty hot."

"Thank you," Morrigan said, leaning back in her chair.

"So what will you do to find the children?" The witch quizzed her as she kicked her feet up into an empty chair.

"Well, we, or the Wardens at least, have a treaty they'll need to take to the Brecilian Forest to enlist aid from the Dalish. I can find out where my...where the clan is from them. I suspect they're north of Denerim right now, at this time of year." She sipped her drink. It was wonderfully warm and strong. She felt so weak from the stress, the alcohol gave her a bit of strength.

"Do you think that Liberia will tell you where they are? Or that she'll need...convinced?" The witch let the last word drop ominously, watching Megara.

" _No_. No harm will come to her or any other Dalish." She would not hear of any of them being harmed on her account.

Morrigan sighed, waving her hand submissively. "Fine, have it your way. But you must realize she is not likely to help you."

Megara drained her mud, refilling it as she contemplated.

"I think you're probably right. But I'm not sure how else to find them." She sighed, tracing her locket with her fingertips. The cold metal soothed her. Idly, she wondered if it could possibly be as cold as her heart felt.

"Who else knew?" Morrigan asked, sipping her drink and watching her like a hawk.

"No one, truly. Not even Teagan. I don't believe Cailan told anyone, either. He wanted me to give Anora the baby so he could install me at court and have his heir, too." She spoke the last bit bitterly. She desperately wanted to save her children from the lethal weight of Ferelden's crown.

"Do any of the Dalish trade with humans?"

Megara thought carefully over it before replying. "Well, sort of, yes. There was Valliaan, the clan's merchant. She and Andef used to go into Denerim to trade with the city elves. That's as close as they got to humans, though."

"Hmmm." Morrigan sipped the hot drink, seeming to muse over the situation. Megara poured her third cup.

"I don't know that I want them found, to be perfectly honest. I don't want them pressured into this life. It's dangerous." She looked down at the heavy wooden table." _I wish I'd just have run away with them._

"It will be even more dangerous if Loghain or Eamon find them before you do." Morrigan said the last words with emphasis, looking at her with purpose.

That truth stung Megara, making her heart seize with fear. She hadn't thought of someone else looking for them. Someone who wouldn't want them alive or possibly taking the throne.

"You're right. Well, will you help me find them?" Of everyone, she trusted Morrigan the most.

"Yes. In return, I want your word that you will help me with something when the time comes."

"Of course, Morrigan, anything." She was surprised that her seemingly only friend would feel the need to stipulate such to her.

"Anything, Megara. You must swear. If you do, I will ensure that we find both your son and daughter." She sat back against the chair, leveling Megara with her haunting gaze.

"I swear. When you ask for my assistance in future, I will help you, no matter the task. Now. What's your plan?"

"We go to see Mother."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Megara was well in her cups by the time the others had trickled into the tavern and sought each other out. They all rented rooms to sleep in and bathes as well. Megara sat sullenly by herself, drinking a hard cider now, watching as Zevran sat at the bar, charming a tavern wench. It made her want to scream with jealousy. _I only bedded him a few times, it's not as if we were even truly a couple._ She turned her attentions back to her drink, pulling a small piece of apple from her cup and flicking it across the table.

"How much have you had to drink, Megara?" A familiar voice interrupted her brooding.

" 'S none your concern, Highness," she slurred as Alistair say across from her. She hadn't expected that and tried to prepare herself for whatever lecture he had ready.

"Shhh!" He hissed, looking around furtively at the other patrons to make sure no one had heard her.

Megara glared at him. She was so angry with him. Angry that he was Cailan's brother, that he had survived instead of her beloved. Angry that he'd kissed her. Angry with herself for liking it and even more furious that he'd told Tara when all she wanted to do was forget it had even happened.

"What, don't want everyone to know you're heir to the throne?" She whispered back, but poured him a cup in Morrigan's abandoned mug.

He glared back but arched an eyebrow in curiosity as well. He took the proffered drink. "Actually, I'm free of it as soon as we find your children."

The mention of Baihlles and her daughter made her seize up. She let her shoulders go rigid as she swallowed yet another cup, filling it up just as quick. She had whispered her daughter's name on the wind, had sung it to her a hundred times in those few, short days. Brienne. The name came unbidden to her lips and she nearly said it out loud. Shaking her head, she brought herself back to her brooding and her conversation with Alistair.

"Bastard's a bastard, no difference really..." she drank deeply from her tankard, having lose count of how many she had drank and reaching for the jug once more.

"Oh but there is quite a big difference and you bloody well know it!"

She was silent then, taken aback by his tone. It rather frightened her. She began playing with her locket, refusing to meet his gaze and looking for all the world like a lost child herself.

She could hear him sigh heavily. "I'm sorry. You must miss them. What did...what did they look like?" Alistair asked carefully, but Megara still had to take another huge gulp of cider, more to swallow her sob than anything.

"Let's take a walk, then, doting uncle, and I shall tell you of your niece and nephew." She stood on wobbly, drunken legs, doling out plentiful coin for her drinks and a tip.

Alistair bristled at her snark. "You can barely walk, you know."

"Well then I'll stumble about and _you_ walk. Alistair I am not going to sit here in front of a tavern full of strangers and cry, damnit."

He relented and they headed out into the early evening. They walked in silence down the small hill. Megara tripped once but refused the Prince's help. She pointed them across the path to the little dock at random.

She plopped down at the end of it heavily. She pulled her boots off and scooted to the edge of the dock, dipping her feet and toes into the frigid water. She giggled drunkenly, pulling a flask from an inside pocket of her doublet. She took a small swig of the Antivan brandy.

"You're going to drown yourself," Alistair said reproachfully. He took a seat at the end of the dock as well, but on the other end. She offered him the flask as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, but he refused.

"I may as well drown my sorrows, at least, Prince," she said. She was dreading telling him everything. Sarcasm mixed with brandy seemed to take the edge off her pain.

"Megara, know this. No matter my animosity, I do care about you. You are still my friend. I will help you find your children because of that, not because I promised my brother's spirit." He reached over and took the flask from her then, static sparking from their hands when they touched.

She was stunned into silence. She hadn't expected such an admission from anyone, least of all Alistair. She took another small sip of the brandy and then began.

"Did you really now know about Cailan and I?" Saying his name hurt, still. It was like a knife to her heart. Do I even have a heart left? It feels as if all is left are ashes.

"No, I barely knew of my brother, let alone..."

"Of his concubine? It's alright. Our affair was short-lived, to be true. I left the Circle three years ago. The first year I spent with a Dalish clan. Then I met Anora in Breakwithhen*. I must have impressed her somehow. She took me on as a lady-in-waiting. Cailan and I fell for each other instantly and our affair started. I had a hard time feeling bad for Anora. She was so cold and unfeeling to him. He did try, in the beginning of their marriage. She cared for nothing but the Crown, no matter the marriage or the need for an heir. I left her service shortly after coming to Denerim, obviously."

"Did she know?" He was scooting about the dock's edge. Megara withdrew her feet from the frigid water, pulling her socks and boots back on.

"Oh yes, she knew. But Cailan and I persisted. We would go to Redcliffe often, to get away from the prying eyes at court. Teagan was sympathetic to our plight, naturally. Shortly after we'd been together a year, I got with child. He was elated at first..." She trailed off, looking out over the darkening water.

"But then he said he realized the people of Ferelden wouldn't accept a bastard heir. We fought."

"Trust me, they are none too kind to bastards." Alistair interrupted with a voice tinged with both bitterness and sadness.

Megara scooted over to him on a whim, pressing her heavy, mead-filled head against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." She paused for a long moment, then told Alistair of how she went back to the Dalish and bore twins in the little caravan in the Brecilian Forest. She was crying softly by the time she'd finished.

"Baihlees and Brienne. I like those names." Alistair, surprisingly, hadn't moved away from her. He sounded genuine when he said their names back to her. It sounded foreign to hear them out loud, to her.

"Do you think Cailan would have?" She peered up at him, in her drunken, sad state.

"Of course. Now let's get back to the tavern before you fall in and drown," he said. He looked strange and he was too close to her. But he was warm and it was becoming quite cold on the dock. Alistiar surprised her then, by tilting her head down and kissing her forehead gently.

She started to ask him why he'd done that, but before she could say anything, he was pulling her up and she was trying to drunkenly keep up with him back to the tavern. Once they crested the hill, he stopped and turned to look at her.

"Thank you, Megara, for telling me about them. I know it was painful. We'll get them back, though." Alistair looked as if he wanted to say something more, but the door to the tavern swung open and they pressed into the warmth of the common room.

xxxxxx

**30:Dragon, 23rd of Guardian**

The next morning, Tara woke them all early. Megara was still slightly intoxicated. They gathered outside the inn, dressed for travel.

"Good morning. Arl Eamon needs us to fulfill the Wardens' treaties before the Landsmeet. We need the help to fight both the Blight and this blasted civil war. Loghain will tear the country apart to keep power before he'll help us defend it. Daily he spreads lies about us all. Eamon has also agreed not to tell anyone, even Isolde, about the...twins for now. Apparently Bann Teagan already knew, but..." Tara looked pointedly at Megara. _So Cailan did tell Teagan._

"Won't he send spies to try and find them?" Leliana asked, her voice full of doubt and accusation. As a former spy, naturally she would know how quickly word would spread.

"Bann Teagan and I convinced him not to, for now," Alistair interjected.

Megara frowned. She didn't trust Eamon at all. Or, his cunning and manipulative wife. Isolde reminded her far too much of Anora.

"He still thinks I should claim the throne," Alistair went on. _Yet you don't want it. Do you want to help me find them to save yourself, or truly out of kindness? Time will tell._

"Morrigan and I will search for my children," she said.

"Splitting up is not in our best interests. I know you want to find them, but we have bigger problems right now." Tara crossed her arms lightly. The Warden was obviously weary. "I need your help, whether I want to admit it or accept it or not."

"Andraste's tits, you're grateful..." Morrigan muttered.

"You have bigger problems. My problem consists of finding my children," she retorted, angry and hurt.

"The Blight will swallow them up, too, violently, if you don't help us!" Tara was angry and her voice echoed that.

Megara looked at Morrigan, who only shrugged in defeat.

"Fine. We do this my way then. Orzammar, then the Circle and to the Brecilian Forest, where I can begin my search for me children." It was her turn to cross her arms and glare.

Tara made to object but Zevran, surprisingly, interjected. "It is closest and makes sense, that much is true."

After several more minutes of arguing, they finally headed down the steep hills towards the stables to get fresh mounts. Walking would take far too long. As the others trekked ahead, Megara stopped Zevran.

"What?" The look of hatred both on his face and within his voice was like a slap to Megara's face. She faltered. "Hmm? Something got your tongue? Not surprising...it seems to get around."

She slapped him. It was a reflex. She hadn't hit him very hard. In truth she couldn't, she was still moderately drunk. But the look of shock and anger that registered on his face, scared her. She took several steps back.

"You dare..." he began, walking towards her.

"Me dare!? You have used your body to gain means and slept with more men and women than you can likely count, but because I had one lover other than you, you paint me a harlot!?" She had hot tears rolling down her face. Zevran reached her and grabbed her face roughly. She clutched at his shirts, pulling at him. "Hold me," she said wildly. He shoved her away.

"You painted yourself a harlot, the moment you neglected to tell me you'd borne two children. And then kissed...that pompous Prince, bedding me afterwards." The look of disgust on his face was breaking her, she could feel the ashes left of her heart disintegrating.

"But I didn't kiss him, he cornered me against a wall," she said weakly, knowing though that her body had responded, hotly, to Alistair.

Zevran stepped to her again, coming nearly nose to nose with her. "Did you like it, my little whore? Did you want that fool thrusting inside of you?" He grabbed her sex roughly, pushing her backwards. "Hmm? Did you want him inside of you instead of me?" It was her turn to shove him away.

"No! I didn't..." But she was miserly, she had no reasons and no excuses.

"You've never gotten over your golden King. Admit it. You see him in his brother and you're drawn to him. I may have used my body for sex but I will never be in a relationship where I play second to any man, heir to the throne or not." He raised his hand, meaning to strike her back. His words crushed her though and she crumpled to the ground, sobbing.

Vaguely, she could hear Leliana thundering down the hill, shouting at Zevran. But the assassin had gone in several long strides before Leliana reached her. Leliana pulled her up, making soothing noises. Megara cried as hard as she dared, her entire body wracked with sobs. She didn't give a damn who saw her. Leliana just stood still in the chilly, early morning and allowed her to sob her heart out on her chest. The bard stroked her hair as she cried.

Finally, she was empty. The alcohol, the sobs, the heartache, everything. It was all gone, she had emptied herself. She felt voided of life entirely. She must have looked as such, too, for Leliana couldn't think of a single thing to say and instead sadly took her by the hand and pulled her along to the stables.


	17. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note. Well here we are :) You will notice midway down, we switch POV, just temporarily, to get a sense of what is transpiring in Denerim. The POVs will be Queen Anora, Loghain and a Denerim resident. Anywho. The soundtrack for this chapter, if you will call it that, is the album "Tear the World Down" by We Are the Fallen. LOTS of great songs there. Excellent writing music, I heartily recommend it.

**30:Dragon, 27th of Guardian**

"I do not trust Eamon," she said simply.

"No, I definitely agree," Morrigan replied. 

Instead of hanging behind the others per usual, she and the witch lead the team on their horses. The afternoon was cold, the sky threatened to snow. Travel would be tough, if it did, but they were only a day from Orzammar's entrance. So they had agreed to press on.

"I just feel like my children are on borrowed time now. Eamon will surely tell Isolde and then it will be a matter of time before Loghain has assassins after them." She was frowning at the damp sky, it seemed to brood as much as she was.

"Then why are we here?" Morrigan was always matter-of-fact.

"I don't know, shit," she trailed off into her own thoughts, torn on what she was to do.

They rode in silence for a few more minutes. As the snowflakes came down, a small village came into view at the bottom of a hill. Small sod huts with straw and stick roofs dotted the landscape, parallel to a small lake. The water was a beautiful sapphire colour, reflecting the wide sky. It was framed by hills which were bleeding into a mountain, in the background. Small fishing boats glided over the lake, creating ripples on the water. Patches of rice plots lined one side of the lake. A handful of wooden buildings crowded around a small, dirt square.

Megara spurred her mount on, eager to see if the little town boasted a tavern. Once everyone else had realized they were within sights of a village, they kicked their horses into a trot. Dust and snow billowed behind them as they traversed the path towards the village.

At the edge of the town, they all dismounted and walked beside their horses so as not to alarm anyone. The path led them to the small square. Up close it was apparent there was a boxy, two story tavern, a general store and stables. A short, squat man greeted them at the stables.

"Welcome, travelers, to Frost Mouth. Name's Aaron. I can see to your horses here."

They thanked the man and exchanged coin for their steeds to be re-shoed and fed. They then departed for the little tavern, called the Fish and the Flask. 

Megara stretched, her limbs were stiff from days of riding. "Maker, I hope they have bathes!"

Unfortunately, the tavern was small and they could secure only two rooms between them. Tara, Morrigan and Alistair took the first, while Zevran, Leliana and Megara took the second. They split into men and women though, to bathe. Both rooms boasted a medium sized wooden tub in the corner of the room. The tavern owner set to boiling large kettles of water and Tara, Zevran and Alistair hauled up buckets of water from the lake as well. Megara and Leliana helped the tavern owner's wife, Peggy, layer clean sheets into the tubs and ready them for the water. It was tedious, long work. By the time they'd each bathed and helped haul the water away, they were exhausted.

Once everyone was clean, they headed down to the common room to eat. Aware that there was coin to be gleaned from the travelers, the proprietor had a goat roasting on a spit in the middle of the hearth fire. 

The smell of the roasting meat was heavenly. Megara purchased a mug of small ale and kicked back in a chair at a table adjacent to the fire. She was nodding off when Leliana pulled a chair up next to her.

"Falling asleep, silly?" The bard asked.

"Mmmhmm," she answered, taking a sip of her drink.

Leliana scooted her chair close to Megara's. "I know you are worried about your children. I have an idea."

Megara was suddenly awake. She sat up, looking about swiftly to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "You have my attention," she said, locking eyes with the flame-haired woman.

"In this village, resides a former contact of mine, Bernard. He owns the general goods store here but travels a lot, still. And I think we could use him to start looking for your children."

"How?" Megara stared at her friend intensely.

Leliana stood to accept their heaping wooden plates from the tavern owner, interrupting their talk. Piles of thick sliced goat meat, the juices dripped over rice and roasted vegetables. They dug into the hot, savory food before speaking further.

Once Leliana had finished most of her food, she looked at Megara. "Well, he is leaving for Briddlesun tomorrow to pick up supplies." *

Briddlesun was a large farming village to the west of the Brecilian Forest. All manner of grains were grown there and it was an outpost for trade and messages. It was also very close to where Keeper Liberia's clan stayed in the fall and winter.

"What can he do, though, truly? The Clan keeps to itself. They're not one to allow intruders, especially human intruders. I was a bit of a special case. Liberia is not going to give anyone the secrets of her machinations, either...." Megara trailed off, picking the last of the savory onions from her plate. She loved onions.

Leliana leaned in close to whisper. "Orlesians have their ways. Especially spies, bards, people of that sort." She gave Megara a meaningful look before returning to the last of her meal.

"What other choice do I have. Very well, Leliana. I will be most certainly in your debt. Do you trust this man, fully? There are two very young children, whose lives are at risk." She shuddered to think of what would transpire if Loghain were to catch wind of Cailan's bastards.

Instead of facing the awkwardness of sleeping in the same room as Zevran, Megara chose to sleep in her chair by the roaring fire. No one protested, as tensions were still quite high. She watched the fire crackling and dying down, the oranges, reds and yellows dancing seductively to her tired, sad eyes. The coals glowed red, then turned to grey-white ash. At last, she slept.

xxxxxx

**30:Dragon, 28th of Guardian**

The ground was covered in snow at dawn. Not the fluffy, sparkling white kind, but the thick, watery kind that would make travel nearly impossible. Surprisingly, Megara had slept well by the warm fire. She stretched her body again, then slipped outside before anyone else to survey the snow's damage. A thin sheet of ice blanketed the lake. The sun was lazily creeping over the mountains, a dull gold on the cold town. The thick snow would break the horses' legs. Shaking her head, she shivered in her thin jacket and headed to the stables. A younger man, perhaps the owner's son, was busily coaxing a fire to life to begin the day's blacksmithing. She approached him.

"Ho, there. I'm Megara, one of the owners of the horses stabled here. How long does this sort of snow usually last in these parts," she inquired, frowning as she noticed swollen, heavy clouds in the sky to the south.

"John. Please to meet ye. Snow this thick, with more coming? It'll be a week or two before it'd be safe to take horses on the roads," he said. He was a short, heavy-set man with a bald head. He had a leaf of some plant in his mouth, chewing it.

Megara sighed. Weeks would all but hand her children's futures over to Loghain and give the Darkspawn more time than they could afford to advance. They would have to head to Orzammar on foot. She was practically glaring at the snow now.

"Might be, Father will buy thems horses, or let you and yours stable 'em here for coin," he said, spitting into the now roaring fire.

It would have to do. She waited for Aaron to appear outside and struck a bargain with him. Five silvers a week per horse. She paid for a month for all of the steeds and thanked him. Alistair met her on her way to the general store.

"What's going on?" Alistair asked, yawning. She could tell he hadn't slept well.

"Horses won't be able to move in this and more coming. We need to leave for Orzammar, on foot. The stable owner is going to keep the horses fed, I've just paid him nearly all the coin I had. I'm going to see what kind of heavy winter clothing the store has and wake the others."

"Good idea. When I left, everyone else was either getting dressed or in the common room getting breakfast. I didn't see a Chantry anywhere, so no luck of a Chanter's Board for coin." The tall Prince frowned, holding the door to the store open for her. 

They both kicked the snow from their boots, stepping into the warm building. It smelled of candied apples and leather.

"No, no Chantry but I did spy a Blackstone Irregular man at the tavern last night. I will see if he has any work," she replied, looking around the store. Alistair grunted in reply and headed off to look at the boots.

A few moments later, Tara, Morrigan, Zevran and Leliana entered the store. Her throat swelled and constricted when she saw Zevran glare at her and turn away. She quickly snapped her head towards the frosted windowpane to prevent herself from being seen in tears. She could hear Leliana walk up behind her. 

"See that man packing the cart with the oxen? That is Bernard. He is still leaving on time, take heart," her friend said, squeezing her shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, Megara tried to smile. It was certainly comforting to think that someone was looking for her children who wanted to protect them.

xxxx

_Meanwhile, in Denerim..._

"No. Silk displeases me. The brocade then, the blue one," Anora demanded.

The Queen was leaning back in a chair in her bedroom, advising a flurry of merchants and servants who were rushing in and out of the royal bedroom. Anora was completely stripping the entire apartment, redecorating it. It was something she had wanted to do for over a year now, but Loghain, her father, had convinced her to wait a year, for the sake of appearances.

She had waited, impatiently. "There is no reason to keep up the appearance of a distraught widow when the entire court knows Cailan was bedding that whore!" She had shouted at her father, furious that he had denied her request. Anora was an obedient daughter, however, so she had, indeed, waited.

Now, however, she sat smugly, watching a steady stream of tailors, furniture makers and the like bring samples and wares through for her, trying to outdo one another, vying for her attention. She was greatly enjoying their little competition, it pleased her greatly. As she was smiling, sipping a glass of Antivan wine and looking over carpets, her elven maid, Tosha, approached her to refill her glass.

"We are in the midst of a civil war and a Blight, yet here you are, choosing to ignore all that and redecorate." Tosha said it quietly, with humour in her voice. The elf had served Anora for many years and had previously always been familiar with her, teasing her when the mood was constrained. 

Perhaps it was the heat of the room, with everyone crowding in it. Perhaps it was all the strangers and the air of familiarity was too much for that. Or perhaps the Queen was acting too much like her father. Anora stood, drawing herself up formidably, to her full height. The look on her face, some would say, mirrored her father's, when he was particularly displeased with someone. Some might even say it was very much like Loghain's face when he quit the field at Ostagar.

"You dare to question me!? Insult me, your better, your Queen! You are...but a...an elf!" The Queen spat, throwing her delicate wine glass at the elf. The sound of it shattering coupled with her yelling quieted the room, instantaneously.

Shocked faces all turned towards the Queen, which only served to incense her further. She didn't like having negative attention turned to her. She loved being the adored, golden Queen. This was embarrassing and beginning to stress her out. Although Tosha stood sobbing, cleaning up the glass, Anora called for the guards.

Tosha was trying futilely to clean the wine and glass Anora had thrown at her, pieces of it slicing her thin fingers, blood dripping onto the stone floor.

"But your Grace, I was merely jesting. I am sorry, I did not mean to offend. Queen Anora, please..." Tosha sobbed in panic as the guards hauled her up. But Anora ordered her faithful, loyal servant to be taken to the dungeons after all. Even the guards were shocked at her ruthless behaviour; they obeyed still.

The room was still quiet, everyone was too scared to move or begin again. Anora shouted for another servant to clean up the mess.

"The wine has splattered everywhere. I want everything taken out to the courtyard and burned. The bed, the carpets. All of it. I want to start fresh. Yes, let's have a fresh start," she smiled brightly. Some would think back on that day and say that it was the smile of a disturbed woman, someone mad with power and temper.

Nervously, a merchant who was to commission a new bed approached Queen Anora and bowed. "Your Grace. If I may, you look lovely today. Would you mind to tell me what sort of mattress you require?" The little man stood wringing his hands. His assistant stood at his side, ready to take notes with quill and parchment on a little writing desk that was hung around his neck with a little leather strap.

"Not just a mattress. I want this old bed dismantled. Just go ahead and burn it with the rest of the things. I want a small bed now. No hangings on the side, I hate those. A petite mattress, just enough room for me. Now, as for the carvings..."

By afternoon, the bedroom had been completely stripped and swept clean. Many pieces of exquisite furniture were being burned in the large courtyard outside the royal suites. Along with all of Cailan's belongings. Many of the servants had tried to protest the Queen burning everything, but none were bold enough to refuse, after seeing how Tosha had been treated. And so things that had been in the Therein family for years, along with the royal knickers, were unceremoniously dumped and lit on fire.

Anora stood at a window facing the courtyard, watching the progress, smiling as the wind blew the smoke around. "I should have done this long ago, I feel quite refreshed," she said, smiling, before heading off to tea with her father.

xxxx

_That same day in Denerim_

Loghain paced around his sparring partner, watching with black, narrowed eyes. The younger man was soaked in sweat, red-faced and tired. Loghain easily deferred each of the young knight's advances, ruthlessly driving him back again and again. It tired him not, but it did give him amusement.

The young man paced backwards, tripping over his own feet in the process. Loghain rushed forward, with a flourish he spun and landed his shield, hard, on the man's chest. The knight grunted in pain, falling to the sawdust training ring. "Fool," he spat, walking off and leaving the man lying on the ground. He allowed a servant to remove his training armor, taking a proffered cup of cool ale. Taking a large drink, he grinned at Branson, one of his stewards.

"You fought well today, my lord," Branson commented, handing Loghain a towel to dry his face with.

"As I do every day," Loghain quipped. Down to leather breeches and a thin tunic, he strode towards his apartments. Handing the cup to a waiting servant, he pulled the slightly sweaty tunic from his body in one quick, fluid movement. He tossed it lightly to the same servant, then took off again towards his rooms. His body was chiseled, scarred in a few spots, but otherwise quite nicely maintained for his age. Loghain never let up, never rested, never stopped. He had learned that, from repelling the Orlesians from Ferelden. One must always be on the defense, that was his motto. 

After dismissing everyone and sinking into the steaming bath that had been prepared for him, he reached for the waiting tray beside his bath. Loghain's master bedroom was on the far side of the castle, a set of four rooms with an additional small anteroom for guests. His bathing room was truly a sight to behold. Not many nobles had a room built onto their personal bedroom strictly for bathing, but Loghain insisted on it. Bathing was the one activity he enjoyed to himself. A marble tub had been carved to his specifications, black and smooth, raised above the floor on large metal legs. Underneath the tub, a pit had been designed for coals to be laid, to heat the water. They were brought from the kitchen carefully, laid in and they heated the water easily. A hole on one side with a special tap had been installed to allow the water to drain easily. Tapestries were hung around the room, depicting different battle scenes. Several were off Loghain's personal, successful defeat of the Orlesians. 

Beside the tub, near the head rest, was a little table. It held a tiny brazier with a little fire in it, and beside it a tray with Loghain's personal letters and missives. A small letter knife laid on top of the pile. A hand towel hung near so that he could wipe his hands before opening the letters. After he read a particular missive, he usually burned it in the brazier. 

Most of today's correspondence consisted of angry letters from banns and nobles, that he was usurping the throne. Snarling, Loghain burned each one. At the bottom of the pile, a square letter was folded and stamped with a simple wax seal. Loghain recognized it instantly. He sliced the envelope open cleanly with the knife, opening the parchment to reveal a letter in code that he easily read. He was used to reading this.

_L, Silencing of Redcliffe has went wrong. Mage has corrupted, raised demons. Held hostage. Please send help with due haste. A_

Loghain chuckled, flicking the letter into the brazier. The tiny flames licked the stiff paper, turning it black and enveloping the message, as the Darkspawn threatened to overrun the country. Loghain sunk into his steaming bath, enjoying the quiet. His servants knew better than to disturb him unless the castle itself was on fire. Once, when Cailan was still alive, he'd tried to send a whore to Loghain. Loghain had allowed the woman to get into the tub, then promptly grabbed her by the back of the head, thrusting her face under the water and drowning her. He'd climbed out of the water, feeling dirtier than before. He'd had to have the entire thing drained, the body hauled off and a new bath ran. It was a disaster of a day. Cailan didn't try to send a prostitute again.

Remembering how the woman had struggled, how her hair had felt in his fingers, under the water, Loghain smiled. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the rim of the tub in the steaming water and exhaled slowly. 

xxxxx

_That night in Denerim_

Varcell Williams crept through the halls, silently and quickly. All was quiet in the castle. He was a short man, not slim but neither stout. His skin was neither pale nor tanned, his hair like liquid night, dark, as if the evening sky had slithered around his head and settled there in quiet waves. He kept it tied back simply. His eyes were a soft green, not remarkable, but the kind that if you stared at them too long, you would be lost.

Swiftly now, through the dungeons Varcell maneuvered, avoiding all guards. Rounding a corner, he stopped at the prison's storeroom and tapped lightly, four times, then three, then once. The door opened silently and he slipped inside. His eyes adjusted to the dark room quickly. A single candle burned in the corner of the room. A very short man with a hood over his head stood near the table. He lifted his head up, removing the hood. Varcell smiled at his dwarven friend.

"Good to see you, Soris. Are we prepared?" Varcell asked the elf.

"Indeed. The guards have been slipped sleeping draughts or bribed. My cousin and I will be able to pick the lock to Tosha's cell and have her back here to you in less than ten minutes. Will that work?" The elf grinned back at him.

"Excellent. I shall watch the corridor and make ready to take Tosha from here."

"Thank you, friend. If we don't get her out of her, the Queen will surely have her executed or tortured."

The two men grasped forearms and nodded to one another. Soris slipped from the storeroom, flicking his hood up above his visage.

Meanwhile, Varcell carefully lifted one of the tall, heavy shelves aside. It held half rotted vegetables and rat-eaten bags of flour. Straining, he shoved it out of the way slowly, so as not to make any noise. Once it was moved, he kicked aside the molded straw underneath to reveal a locked trapdoor. Plucking an iron key from inside his sleeves, he waited. Moments later, he heard the knock he'd been waiting for. Soris and a young elf woman entered. She was crying silently, obviously very frightened.

"Shhh, there is no need to fear any longer," Varcell said soothingly. He bent, unlocking the trapdoor and lifting it, cringing when the unused hinges creaked. Soris was helping her into a clock and Varcell used the candle to light an oil lamp. Shutting the glass door on it, he used it to brush away the cobwebs inside the narrow tunnel. A ladder led down. Water could be heard trickling, faintly.

"What...what is that water?" The elven woman asked, scared.

"Underneath this room, is the stream that carries the city's wastes. At the bottom of this ladder, you will drop into a waiting boat. Then, Soris will get you far out of Denerim." He smiled at her, trying to calm her nerves.

"We must make haste, friend," Soris urged. He went first, holding the lantern with one hand, aloft, so that Tosha could see as she was following him down. Soon after she was down the first few rungs, the heavy trapdoor shut above her and she could hear the key turn, locking them in the narrow tunnel. She had to stifle a sob from terror. The space was small and confined. She concentrated on making her feet and hands go down, a rung at a time. The bars were cold, spiders and bugs crawled across her skin. She was shaking but bit her lip to prevent herself from screaming. This was her only chance to escape, to live.

At long last, she felt a gush of air, the smell of the city's stench rise up to meet her. She could hear the water. Never had she been happier to smell refuse in her life. She could hear Soris greet another elf, hear him drop into the waiting boat. Feeling her feet on the last rung, she faltered. She couldn't look down, she couldn't turn her head. Taking a deep breath, she allowed her body to dangle. For one dangerous moment, as she gripped the bars and her body swayed, she thought no one would catch her. Then she felt Soris' warm hands around her waist, pulling her down into the boat. She closed her eyes in relief and allowed the darkness to take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My but we are chugging right along, eh? Isn't Loghain pretentious!? I wanted to show a quirk of his, something odd, along with his ruthlessness. I hope now all those warm, fuzzy feelings for the Mac Tirs have dissolved. These two, as far as my story goes, anyways, are cold and very much ruthless. Make no mistake, there is no good in them. Before anyone asks, no, Varcell, Soris or Tosha will not be a recurring character. This was to break the monotony of Megara's POV up a bit, a break so to speak. Also, wanted to tie up that loose end, for anyone who had worried about the elf's fate. Varcell will make one or two more very small appearances much later. Please do let me know what you think!  
> *More made up village and town names. These are not included in game, I just needed random names of places.


	18. And So It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note. Well hello my darlings. It has been a very long time. I am so sorry. Megara is dear to my heart and I fully intend to see her story through. Last year was so very, very hard on me. I went through a lot. I survived suicide. So please be kind and patient with me. For 9 long months, I haven't written much. I am finally writing again and it feels so good.

30: Dragon,

Orzammar. The entrance was nothing short of magnificent. It had stolen Megara's breath away. The towering stone front loomed over the travelers; small snowflakes of snow swirling around. The afternoon sun glinted off the rocks, making it seem as though it was bathed in an eerie light.

Megara stopped walking and stood, quite transfixed, looking at the marvelous gates. She could only wonder what it looked like on the inside. She was still staring in awe when a loud commotion to her left broke her concentration.

A small retinue of dwarven guards was roughly "escorting" another dwarf from the cracked gates. Megara couldn't hear anything over the shouting but her curiosity was piqued. She made her way through the merchants, who were also watching the spectacle. She wound her way closer to where the commotion was coming from. The wind was picking up, swirling snow on the ground into small little tornadoes. Megara pulled her coat tighter as the cold breeze bit through the dragon hide. She could hear bits of the argument now, and she inserted herself beside a stall, pretending to browse the wares.

"Prince Bhelen's orders..."

"You're lucky you weren't killed, Gorim. If the Prince had his way..."

Megara spotted the dwarf who was the centre of the trouble. He wasn't tall for a dwarf, but he wasn't altogether short, either. He had rust red hair, neatly combed back into a ponytail. His pointed beard was elaborately braided. His skin looked tan, even for living underground and Megara noted his clothes were finely made. He had a manner about him that looked almost regal, but standoffish. 

The guards had finally shoved him away and turned to go back to the gates of Orzammar's entrance. Gorim spat at them and turned heel to walk away. It was then that she caught his gaze. The dwarf stopped short, crossed his arms and stared at her.

"What do you want, surfacer!?"

"A hot bath, a hot meal and a hot mug of cider would be nice," she quipped, a tentative smile on her lips. She crossed her arms as well, leaning over on one heel against the stall she had been perusing.

The dwarf chuckled and shook his head.

"You're something else, human."

Gorim stopped for a moment, looking around, blinking his eyes; looking for all the world like a lost child. He sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself.

Megara wondered, vaguely, what it must be like to spend your entire life underground. Never seeing the stars, never feeling rain on your face or the wind through your fingertips. The thought, the idea of Orzammar began to bother her greatly. She started to imagine herself stuck deep within the sprawling underground city's stifling walls; surrounding and caging her in. It made her balk.

"Nug got your tongue?" the dwarf asked.

Megara blinked rapidly and turned her attention back to him.

"I'm sorry. My name is Megara Rialton. I am traveling with the Grey Wardens to seek aid against the Blight."

The dwarf frowned. "That may prove to be a daunting task. Our King is dead and our city in...chaos," he commented. Megara noticed he seemed extremely pained when speaking of the King. He also seemed to be scanning the crows for someone. "My name is Gorim Saelec of the Warrior Caste...formerly of the Warrior Caste."

"Formerly?" Megara pried carefully.

"Don't you have more pressing matters to attend to, human?" Gorim's voice was neither harsh nor friendly.

Megara shuffled nervously from foot to foot, looking over Gorim's shoulder at the gates in the distance. She could see her companions speaking with the guards at the entrance. She weighed her options, her fears. There wasn't much time to be had...

"No, I don't. You seem like you're looking for someone. I, too, am searching. Perhaps we can aid each other," she spoke softly.

Gorim stared at her, contemplating. She watched him intently, willing him to accept her offer, not daring to allow herself too much hope. Hope could overcome. It was a fever, infectious; it could overtake all common sense. She tried to hold it in check, desperately. She grasped at it, trying not to let it run wild. Her palms were sweaty, though, she kept glancing nervously at her comrades. Finally, Gorim spoke.

"Are you searching or fleeing, lady?"

Megara leveled her icy eyes at him. Locking gazes with him, she stared through thick, sweeping lashes with a ferocity that most men cowered at. 

"And you dwarf? Are you searching or fleeing?"

For a moment the pair measured each other. No one spoke. The silence crackled with the unknown; all the questions neither wanted to ask but both needed answered.

"It would seem we have an accord, then," Gorim held out a thick hand for her to shake. 

Hesitating but a moment, she grasped and shook his hand, gladly.

"Alright, then. I am going to gather supplies from the surface dwarfs here. I will meet you at the entrance to the camps at dusk. Agreed?" The dwarf studied her.

Megara nodded her head in agreement, smiling. She felt relief washing over her, like warm water. She watched as Gorim nodded and took his leave from her, heading over to a topside perchance. She turned to look again at her companions and started. They were all gone. Immediately she made to take off for the entrance.

Alistair's voice shook her. "So you're just going to leave, just like that?" He asked darkly. He was standing under the awning of an abandoned merchant stall, in the shadows."Were you even going to tell me goodbye?"

Megara could both hear and feel his temper flaring through his words. She didn't understand his ire; especially given their last interaction. 

"I had planned, yes, to tell everyone goodbye," she said, putting emphasis on the word 'everyone'.

"And just where are you going!?" he demanded hotly, crossing his arms to glare at her.

Megara thought he looked more like a sullen child than a Grey Warden at the moment.

"To find my children," she said softly. The very thought of them made her chest tighten. She was ready to depart. She was ready to find her beloved babies and hold them tight to her; to apologize for ever allowing them to be taken from her and to protect them as she ought.

At this point, the others had joined them. Then the arguing began. Tara demanded she stay. Morrigan felt betrayed, no one could agree, really. Alistair offered to go with her which started a side argument with their leader. He and Tara moved away from the group to bicker it out. Zevran had merely bid her good riddance and put some distance between he and her, choosing to lean against a tree and glare at them all.

In the end, Tara gave her blessing to Megara's journey after extracting a promise from Megara that she would return to them to continue their quest.

"There is nothing binding her to us; her word is worth less than an Antivan whore's virtue. She will not return, Warden. More the better," Zevran said, his words practically dripping with venom. He stalked off and Leliana chased after him in anger.

"That's it!" Tara exclaimed, grabbing Alistair's arm and startling them both.

"What is?" Alistair asked, perplexed.

"Warden," Tara said slowly, with a chill to her voice. The word hung in the air for a moment, everything stilled around the trio as the weight of what Tara was suggesting settled in.

"Tara, I don't know," Alistair began.

"I do. We've studied the books, the scrolls. We can do it. We can make another Warden. We still have some vials of Darkspawn blood. We have a mage. We can make Megara a Warden."

Staring at them in disbelief Megara began to object until she looked at Tara's hopeful face. Hadn't she hurt them enough? Perhaps if she survived and became a Grey Warden she would atone for her many, many, mistakes. Maybe she could better protect her children. And death would come sooner, where she would once again be with her golden King.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The darkspawn blood was going to kill her. She knew it. She was gagging, choking violently. Her throat on fire; constricting and cutting off her air. She clutched at her throat, willing it to open, to allow air in. She finally managed a gasp of cold, sweet air. It was a short lived reprieve. Now her blood felt as if it were boiling, on fire underneath her skin. It bubbled in her veins, feeling like it was going to rend her skin apart at any moment to burst forth in a fiery mess. She shook her head, for it was suddenly invaded with excruciating visions of dark things; blood and torture, demons and death. She could hear a burning symphony of a thousand screams of death, a song which she wanted to forget but likely never would. The anguished melody pounded through her skull, causing her to stumble once, twice. Leaning heavily against a tree, she grasped the rough bark, shaking her head, trying to clear the visions. The prickly, frozen bark cuts her soft skin, the blood which felt on fire dripped from her fingers to the pristine white snow below her. She was dizzy, her head felt heavy, weighted down from the horrors thrust inside it. It took all of her will to steady herself against the tree, to clear the dark dreams. Her mind began to settle, to become her own again. Her skin cooled slowly, her blood calming down. She still heard whispers at first, she clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut, willing them to quiet. Finally, she was herself once more. She opened her eyes, everything was blurry at first. She wavered then, falling to her knees. She pressed her bloody, hot palms into the blessedly cool snow, steam rising in small spurts around her fingers. When she was sure of herself she looked up. Alistair was standing there, his hand out once more, to help her up. As he had been when he had saved her.

"Welcome, Warden," Tara said ominously.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

She was late meeting Gorim and feared he wouldn't be waiting for her. But he was, mercifully. And he was prepared to leave. They would be riding in the back of a merchant's cart for the first part of their journey, back to the village where Megara's horse was stabled. As they loaded their meager belongings into the back of the cart, Megara looked around. A light snow was falling, but it was warm enough that it would not stick to the ground. She had already said goodbye to Alistair and Tara, who had headed into Orzammar to begin fulfilling the treaty. It would appear that Gorim really didn't have anyone to say goodbye to.

Megara wasn't completely surprised, as he had lived inside Orzammar his entire life. He climbed clumsily into the cart. It was filled with ore from underground as well as baskets of wool sheered from sheep that lived in the mountains here. Gorim nestled into the wool, pulling a blanket from his pack.Megara swung her pack into the cart on the opposite side. She dusted off her pants and looked around. She spotted Leliana a few paces away near a stall and walked over to her.

"I wanted to say thank you. For trying to help me," she said lightly, shuffling her feet. She wasn't used to speaking to people warmly. Only Cailan had been like that with her, really...

Leliana turned and flashed her a tired a smile.

"You are quite welcome, Megara. I wanted to do something. Although I suspected you would not be able to resist looking for them. I cannot say I blame you for that."

They looked at each other for a brief moment. Leliana reached over, giving her a quick, brief hug. Leliana was warm and Megara felt sorry for leaving her friend.

"Be careful, Warden. Come back to us swiftly," Leliana said, her voice suddenly thick with emotion and soft.

Megara ducked her head, laughing awkwardly and kicking at the snow.

"I will do my best, my friend," she said lightly.

Morrigan hovered nearby as Leliana walked towards the gates.

"So this is it?" she asked, her voice icy but not venomous.

"It would seem so, Morrigan..."

"Save your breath. I am not angry. I should be. Now I have to travel with that mutt and Gray alone. I shall have no one to converse intelligently with." Just a trace of a smirk touched the side of Morrigan's face and Megara lost it, her sides heaving with laughter.

"Oh, Morrigan, how I shall miss your wit and companionship."

She was rewarded with a rare, warm smile from her beloved friend.

"Do try to come back quickly. The thought of being stuck underground with Alistair is most disturbing."

The merchant was tying the oxen to his cart, readying for departure. The merchants in the square were closing down their stalls; dusk was beginning to fall, the sky a brilliant cascade of colours. Her team had headed into Orzammar. She sighed. _I was foolish to hope..._

"Warden. A moment?"

Her heart leapt at the sound of Zevran's silken voice.

"Zev!" her voice cracked pitifully. 

The assassin stood in the shadows, leaning against a tree. She walked over to him hesitantly, her body tremoring, her heart even more.

Zevran made no move to uncross his arms. He frowned at her silently. The snow came down in big, soft flakes. She let her head lean down, staring at the ground as big, silent tears fell from her brilliant eyes. A flake landed on her lashes, cold, tickling her eyes. Still too nervous to move, she fidgeted with her hands, too scared to make a move. Flakes piled onto her lashes, delicately balanced.

She hadn't heard him move. But then, she wouldn't have. She never did. Zevran brushed the snowflakes from her eyes with surprisingly gentle fingers. She could smell him, the oranges and spice and his sweat, how she missed when she was able to smell his body on hers. He was warm, and close. Zevran leaned down, pressing a soft kiss onto each of her eyelids and then as softly as one of the snowflakes, her cold, trembling lips. The warmth of Zevran's lips spread through her entire being. She closed her eyes, wanting to capture the moment forever. When she allowed her eyes to drift back open, he was gone.

**xxxxxxxxxxx**

"Why in the Maker's name is 'spawn blood so damned sticky!?"

Megara sighed in frustration as she attempted to scrub the dark substance from her shirt. She and Gorim had made camp after traveling for two days. 

They'd ridden with the merchant for four grueling days. Riding in the cart had been extremely uncomfortable, but they'd made the best of it. They had talked at length. Megara found it surprisingly easy to talk with and relate to the dwarf. She learned of his desperate story-his search for the Aeducan princess he had loved all his life; who had been torn from him after being framed for the most salacious crimes. She felt sympathy for him and anger at the nobility. If class wasn't so all defining and important, she and Cailan would have been together openly. And perhaps her children would be safe instead of hunted by assassins. Gorim's heartbreak only made her angrier. When he told her about the Caste system, she almost couldn't see for the rage building within her. It practically blinded her vision, her Grey Warden blood boiled and she could begin to hear the dark whispering in her head again. She had to breathe deeply for some minutes to focus her attention elsewhere. 

She was finally able to take her anger and turn that into the blade that killed darkspawn. Each monster she hacked down made her feel a little better. Every thrust of a dagger or release of a spell gave her satisfaction. She felt almost like she was evening the score.

"We'll be in Denerim in another week if the weather holds," she commented.

**xxxxxxxxxxx**

Megara was building a small campfire to cook the pheasants she'd shot with her bow that evening, thinking deeply. She let her mind wander as she raked the coals and set up a spitfire. In no time she had a nice little fire going and was plucking the feathers from the birds. She hated this part of readying birds for cooking, it was so tedious. She remembered the first pheasant she had killed on one of her adventures with Cailan. She smirked. He had been aghast when she plucked and cleaned the bird. He'd always had servants to do it for him and had never seen it done. She missed him, greatly.

Megara and Gorim were just outside Denerim now. She poked at the fire after skewering the birds, agitated. What if she showed her face openly in Denerim? Loghain wanted her head. Without the protection of the other Wardens, she could be in danger. _No one will believe I am a Warden._ She scarcely believed it herself.

Gorim planned to go into Denerim and look for other dwarves and information on his missing princess. Megara was unsure what to do. Even if she found her former clan, even if she confronted Keeper Liberia, to what end? Would she tell her anything? That was if she got past the hunters surrounding the camp.

"What are you mullin' over, my human friend?" Gorim interrupted her thinking, startling her.

"You're brooding. Why?" he asked, setting down more firewood and dusting his hands off to stand and survey her.

Megara sighed. "I need to travel to the Brecilian forest, to continue my search for my children. But I'm worried that I won't be successful in getting the information I want. I need, rather..." she trailed off, turning the birds on their spit. She frowned at the fire.

Gorim patted her shoulder, sitting beside her on a fallen log that Megara had drug over next to the fire.

"My friend, you need to take the chance. Decide if the risk to your life is worth finding your children. I think you'll find that it is. If you're concerned about safety, fire a mercenary. I know time is of the essence. But I must find Sairosee. And you look for Brienne and Baihlees. We must part ways. I hope we are both reunited with our loved ones. And perhaps, we will see each other again someday soon."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit new at this, so please bare with me. If you see any grammatical errors, please do message me. Gratitude for reading.


End file.
